The Curse of Loving You
by ulysses31dancer
Summary: Five years ago, a series of events caused two worlds to collide. Stiles, in an attempt to help Scott and his pack, mistakenly unleashed a curse that fell onto Kurt and Blaine, shattering their timeline and causing multiple versions of them to coexist. Unable to fix the curse, Scott and the pack go their own way until, one of the Blaine's begins to kill the Kurts.
1. Prologue

**For reference: With the exception of the prologue, the original Kurt and Blaine are written as Kurt and Blaine. All the other Kurts and Blaines have a descriptive name preceding them.**

**There are also some elements of horror in this but if you watch Teen Wolf you should be fine.**

**A big thanks to 'deltaflyer' for the beta**

**Prologue**

"You're here on business?" Rich Kurt asked hesitantly, hopefully, standing at the entrance of the rundown motel room. He suppressed a shudder. The motel had certainly seen better days. "We could have gone back to my place…"

Blaine turned around, already half way across the room. "Unfortunately yes," he stated. It wasn't a complete lie, not that he cared whether he lied or not. "This humble abode was all my boss was willing to pay for while I'm in town. Nice of him, isn't it?"

Rich Kurt was surprised to say the least. It was a crappy motel in an even crappier LA neighborhood. The room was drab, old and in desperate need of a paint job, the outlay unoriginal: there was the grubby looking double bed with sheets Rich Kurt dearly hoped had been washed, the short counter with one stained and cracked mirror, and an old, square box TV in the corner. That was it. He shuddered to think of what the bathroom might look like. It was not exactly what Rich Kurt was used to.

The sound of sirens, off in the distance, suddenly cut through the night. It was followed by someone crying out angrily a few doors down, a door was slammed shut and more shouts continued, muffled only slightly through the motel's thin walls. Rich Kurt stepped gingerly into the room, the inside now far more appealing than the outside.

He eyes ran over Blaine's body. The man dressed well enough, he seemed intelligent enough and by God, he was certainly sexy enough. Rich Kurt would just go with it, live the role and have the one night stand. He wasn't pompous, he wasn't a snob but he wouldn't lie, he had suddenly felt uncertain, something in the back of his mind that had told him he should run and get away while he still could. He glanced over his shoulder. Did he still have the option to run?

His head snapped back round to look at Blaine as he heard his car keys being dropped on the counter. Maybe allowing Blaine to drive his car from the club had not been the best idea. Rich Kurt had only said yes since Blaine had made it sound like the motel was in a hard place to find. Now, with his keys on the other side of the room, if he did want to escape, he would have to put himself right in front of this man who he had let pick him up for the night.

Blaine tilted his head to the side and smiled. "Trust me, I won't disappoint."

Their eyes met and Rich Kurt's insides tightened again at the mere thought of finding out what his lips felt like, or how his slender waist or the muscles in his back felt like under the touch of his fingers. There were also his eyes. There was something in those eyes, something that when Rich Kurt stared for too long, he could feel himself being pulled in.

Blaine, knowing all too well the effect he was having, remained in character. "Come here," he said softly, holding out his hand for Rich Kurt to take.

The hand, outstretched and wanting, was too tempting for Rich Kurt. He couldn't resist it and he closed the motel room door behind him.

Blaine pulled him closer as soon as Rich Kurt had looped his fingers through Blaine's. He ran his hands up and down Rich Kurt's arms, his eyes wandering up and down his body. He shook his head in amazement, disbelief maybe, Rich Kurt didn't know but whatever Blaine had seen, he must have liked it because he then leaned in. He kissed Rich Kurt on the lips and brought one of his hands up to cup the side of his face angling Rich Kurt how he wished. "We're going to have tonight," he murmured still playing with Rich Kurt's lips. It was always like this when he had a Kurt willing and eager. It was part of his plan, part of his plan to allow them to build a sense of security and to make them comfortable before, before he really did have his fun with them.

Blaine guided Rich Kurt backwards towards the motel bed, the one that Rich Kurt had just looked at with horror and before he could question what he was doing one last time, Blaine began to undress him. They stumbled backwards pulling at each other's clothes until they came to the bed and fell onto the mattress together, and now that he was in the moment, with his legs entwined with Blaine's, Rich Kurt all but forgotten the dismal location.

It didn't take Rich Kurt long to realize that he had made the right choice by letting Blaine invite him to his motel room. Blaine was a bit rushed but his actions strove as much to satisfy Rich Kurt as to satisfy himself. Rich Kurt was soon panting for breath, at his complete mercy, begging for him to not stop. Blaine's hands gripped Rich Kurt tightly at the waist and it was all that Rich Kurt could do but not fall face first into the sheets from the force of Blaine's thrusts. Blaine's strength was phenomenal and Rich Kurt came far earlier than he did. He hung his head and let Blaine take him, his mind hazing over as he lost track of time.

"Oh man, oh man, that was fucking amazing!" Rich Kurt gasped when Blaine finally pulled out of him for the last time. He collapsed onto the sheets and rolled onto his back failing to notice that Blaine had shoved the used condom into his pocket once he had tied it. Rich Kurt was too busy trying to recover. He ran a hand through his hair and laughed towards the ceiling. In the end, this hook-up had been amazing. It couldn't get any better.

But it could get worse.

Rich Kurt heard the clinking sound of Blaine's belt and he lifted his head.

"You're getting dressed already?" he asked and then stopped himself. He didn't know Blaine at all and this was a one night stand. Heck, they hadn't even had a proper conversation in the club. Blaine had just walked straight up to him and said, "Do you want to get out of here?"

It was the hottest thing Rich Kurt had ever seen. He had never had anyone so brazen and confident approach him in such a manner before. Rich Kurt had been so taken aback he had only managed a nod before following Blaine to the exit. He had only learnt Blaine's name when he had handed him the keys to his car.

Blaine smiled, kneeled up onto the bed and straddled over Rich Kurt's body. "Don't worry," he said gently stroking the side of Rich Kurt's face. "You don't need to get up. You can stay right there." Without another word, Blaine leaned down and wrapped his hands around Rich Kurt's throat, and started to squeeze.

Rich Kurt frowned at first, surprised but trusting nonetheless, until, Blaine's hands began to tighten.

"What are you doing?" he gasped trying to pull Blaine's fingers free from their clasp.

"I'm killing you," Blaine spoke calmly, so calmly it was as if he was telling Kurt the state of the weather. "You were perfect but you've done your job now."

Rich Kurt's eyes widened in fear and surprise, and the realization that his life could be in possible danger, jolted him into action. "Let go of me!" he demanded. His body began to twist and his legs began to flare and kick about as he tried to move his body under Blaine's in an attempt to get some leverage to escape.

Unfortunately, Blaine's body weight was too strong and his grip around Rich Kurt's neck only tightened to the extent that Rich Kurt was now no longer able to speak. Wild, primal fear shot to Rich Kurt's eyes. He clawed at Blaine's arms as he tried to gasp in the tiniest amount of air. It was to no avail. A minute later, all the life that Rich Kurt had possessed had been destroyed and all that remained was his lifeless body sprawled out over the sheets.

Blaine rose to his feet once Rich Kurt's body was still beneath him. He was dead but Blaine's job was not finished. He bent down and pulled the bag free that he had stored underneath the bed earlier, all of his movements moving swiftly and without hesitation. The zip was pulled down, the opening pulled a part, and Blaine's fingers dove into its insides until they clasped around the handle of the sharp butcher's knife he kept just for this purpose.

Blaine climbed back onto the bed and grabbed Rich Kurt by the scruff of his hair pulling his dead body into a limp sitting position, his strength helping to hold Rich Kurt's weight. Blaine rested the blade against Rich Kurt's neck and started to cut into his flesh knowing in any second, the remaining Kurts would feel it. Blaine's eyes glowed with glee.

With Rich Kurt's head free, Blaine held it away from him, blood slopping onto the sheets. He began to laugh. This was his life, this was his purpose. He could no longer be known as just Blaine. It wasn't enough. He was evil. He was Evil Blaine and he killed Kurts. He killed them for the power they gave to the other Kurts and in return, for the power he received.

His laughter continued, morphing into a cackle that carried itself out of the room, down the front of the motel and across the empty street until it found a car hiding in the shadows, out of the direct path of the streetlights. Danny, far, far away from his small hometown of Beacon Hills, pulled out his phone and began to furtively tap out a message while Evil Blaine's laughter caused a tingle of fear to run up his spine.

"Don't think I don't know that you're there," Evil Blaine's voice suddenly came to Danny's ears.

Danny's head shot up in horror.

There was no one at his window but Evil Blaine's voice had been so close. His hand swiftly went to double check that his door was locked and he swivelled around in his seat to ensure that Evil Blaine wasn't hiding around the back of his car or even more terrifyingly, already sitting in it. There was no one there but the voice had been so close, close enough for Danny to know that he was in danger. He had been warned. He dropped his phone onto his passenger seat and turned his keys in the ignition. Without even looking over his shoulder, Danny screeched away from the curb and sped away down the street.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The sound of the phone's dial tone cut into the night. Stiles stirred, twisting in his sheets while his hand scrunched his pillow around his head to try to drown out its sound. He moaned when it started to ring a second time. Sleep was too important to him now. He couldn't do his job without it. The phone however was going to be persistent.

"Whaaaaat!?" he yelled angrily as the phone started to ring for a third time. He rolled over again and reached his hand out to answer the call.

"Stiles?"

Stiles bolted upright. He would recognize that voice from anywhere.

"Lydia!?"

Stiles paused trying to determine whether he was truly awake. Of all the people he had expected to be on the other end, it had not been Lydia. Lydia had not spoken to him in almost five years.

"It's been a long time," she continued hesitantly.

There was only silence in response.

"Stiles?"

Stiles, in the middle of pinching his arm to determine whether he was truly awake, grimaced. "Yep, I'm still here. Just making sure I wasn't sleeping."

A soft chuckle came down the phone and something inside of Stiles began to warm, it was place that held fond memories of close friends, of family. It was a place that had been cold for far too long.

"It's definitely me but urr…"

Stiles deflated, "This isn't a social call, is it? After five years of not seeing each other, this is not a social call."

"Unfortunately, no," Lydia responded, "Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"We have a problem."

"Aaaah," Stiles let out. He swung his legs round over the edge of his bed and placed his feet on the ground. The wooden floor was cool on his bare feet and despite that it was still summer, he suppressed a shiver. "I thought you were in retirement."

A defeated sigh escaped Lydia's lips, "I thought so too, Stiles…. Stiles we need to meet, this is serious."

Stiles tensed when he heard the worry in her voice. "Sure Lydia. Anything for you, just name a place and time and…"

"Look out your window," she quickly spoke.

Stiles stared across his room to the night outside, not believing for one instant that Lydia could be standing outside waiting for him. He slowly rose to his feet and sucked in his breath when he looked down to the grass below. After all those years of no calls, no visits, no emails, five years of nothing, there was Lydia standing in his backyard under his window looking up at him.

It was as if he had stepped back into his childhood. Lydia with her long red hair, his old room, his childhood behind him and even his dad down the hallway, all added to the surge of nostalgia that flooded him. He was adult now, twenty five, but the sight of her, the sight of her large eyes and dark luscious lips, sent him hurtling back. There hadn't been any romantic feelings for Lydia for a long time but after everything they had been through when they were kids and despite their time apart, Lydia would always be one of the most important people in his life.

Lydia lowered her phone, their eyes meeting through the darkness. Stiles unlatched the clip and tugged the window open.

"So, are you going to let me up?" she asked.

Stiles managed a grin, "As if I would ever say no to you."

* * *

><p>Sebastian stalked down the side of Sunny Sunshine Motel, purposeful and determined unable to appreciate the last few stars before they disappeared as dawn approached. He stopped at the perimeter and surveyed the gritty scene before him in the room, his attention only averted while he covered his shoes in their protective coverings.<p>

His shoulders dropped as he reassessed the view and a small inkling of fear found its way to his stomach, but he stopped himself. This was not the time for self-doubt even after all eyes had diverted in his direction as soon as he entered. Word spread fast and there was no doubt that the police on duty already knew that the FBI had just stepped in. "Just" was an understatement – he had only received the call forty minutes earlier stating that he had a new case. A possible serial killer and the files on the previous murders were still on their way.

Sebastian stood tall and tried to project a presence that suggested he knew what he was doing and since they were going to be there all day, he scanned the room to see who was present. "Where's Wes?" he ordered noting his absence.

"Wes is sick," a woman on the opposite side of the room told him, her camera clicking and flashing as she stood over some blood splatter. "The name's Santana by the way, since you're being so polite in introducing yourself." She didn't turn around but she held her up ID card briefly for Sebastian to see before she proceeded to take another photo. She was too far away for him to read the fine print of her name. Not that it would have mattered. He wouldn't have read it anyway.

"Shit," Sebastian swore. "_Perfect timing Wes, perfect timing_!"

Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn't impressed. Although he was a fresh face in the FBI, he wasn't a fresh face to murder scenes. Sebastian had done his time. After leaving his family's fortunes behind to prove to his father that he could make it on his own, he'd been in the Robbery-Homicide Division of the LA Police Department for five years before he transferred over to the FBI. It gave him great background knowledge to fall back on, but it also meant he knew exactly how pissed everyone was going to be that he had turned up to take over.

The truth was though this was the worst case scenario. He was determined to make his mark, to make a name of himself but now he had been handed this case. From what he had learnt so far, a set of three murders spanning over six months, linked together by some overzealous data collection freak doing overtime in a dingy dark corner of the FBI. Sebastian was skeptical, there wasn't really much to go on but being the new guy, the rookie, he believed it had been handed to him to see what he could do with it.

This was why Wes's attendance was so crucial. They had patrolled the streets together, been friends since school and while Sebastian had gone ahead to be in the FBI, Wes had decided to move on to the CSI division. And now, when Sebastian needed him the most, he wasn't there. He didn't trust anyone else, let alone this woman who hadn't even made eye contact with him since he had walked in the door.

"So, you're my photographer for the day?"

"That's right," Santana answered.

He watched her now as his frustration grew. She moved fluidly and confidently, changing the angle of the camera as she took photos of the blood splatter, completely unperturbed by the headless corpse less than a meter away from her. His eyes ran down her body to her high heeled shoes that were covered with protective material. Geez! He shook his head and he believed that his blood pressure began to rise. What kind of person, a professional, would wear shoes like that to a crime scene?

"Nice to see you dressed appropriately," he complained.

Santana didn't look at him. "Maybe you should be saying, nice to see that you could still make it even though you were on your way home from a hot date."

"At four o'clock in the morning?" Sebastian asked snidely.

"What can I say? I know how to show a girl a good time."

Shit, he was being an asshole, but he would watch her the whole day if had to.

"Just don't miss anything," Sebastian sighed and then he added thinking better of it, "please."

Santana finally lowered her camera and looked at Sebastian. "Keep your cool, Newbie," she told him calmly. "The patrol did a good job securing the scene and you've got a good CSI team working today. We've already broken the room down into zones with the plan of doubling over to ensure we don't miss a thing."

Sebastian didn't answer and his scowl only deepened. Santana shrugged unbothered and turned her back on his brooding so she could take more pictures. After a long minute of silence, she had to ask.

"So, what's your angle on this?"

"Why would you want to know?"

"I've heard about you," she said her voice calm but determined. "Top of your class, driven and talented but let me give you some advice." She turned to face him and took a step closer mindful of the blood at her feet. "You're going to need help to solve these murders. I've see the files and I know there's not much to go on. And from the looks of things here, the murderer's cleaned up enough to stop us from identifying him. I feel confident that there's going to be nothing relevant from toxicology, no fingerprints, no fibers, and no missing person reports to link to. So, if I was you, Newbie" she said firmly, "I would make friends, not enemies."

Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest, immediately suspicious. How was it she had seen the files before him? He eyed her closely.

"So?" Santana pushed again, her arms folded over her chest. "What do you think?"

Sebastian stared at her for a long time, his face unreadable. He wasn't about to inform a stranger of his own thoughts regarding the scene especially when she had implied she knew more than him. He wasn't about to be intimidated by her either but it was also impossible for him to not stop and begin his own assessment of what had taken place. He started to compile his thoughts, organizing all the elements, creating a list inside his head that his photographic memory would return to later in the privacy of his own home. His fingers automatically went to the recorder in his pocket. He paused however, not wanting to share anything in front of this bold and confident woman.

"I don't feel comfortable sharing such information," he finally said.

Santana chuckled, "You'd better get used to it."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because I'm your new partner."

Sebastian swallowed uneasily, the only outward sign that he was annoyed.

Santana tilted her head slightly and tried to judge his reaction. She was half expecting him to storm off and complain that he didn't need someone to babysit him through his first case, but he was to surprise her.

"We'll share thoughts after we're done here," he informed her.

Santana's eyes flickered round the room curiously and her only response was a quick nod of the head.

* * *

><p>Blaine's flight was running on time, the only problem was, Blaine wasn't. He rushed to check-in only to be given a disgruntled look from the lady behind the counter for his late arrival, danced through security which only caused him to have to have a full pat-down body search, and then ran the whole way to his gate. As he sat down into his seat and did up his belt however, his mind fleeted back to that familiar sensation that he always got when a Kurt was close by. It was unnerving that he had sensed one in London but he was bound for New York and there was nothing that he could do about it now. Eager to forget it, he closed his eyes as the flight assistant checked the overhead storage containers while another assistant down the aisle prepared to run through the safety directions.<p>

The flight was uneventful, the usual boring inflight movies, terrible food even though he was in business class, and an annoying passenger who was intent on complaining about every aspect of the flight just to make the flight attendants' lives miserable. Fortunately, he managed a quick exit from the airport and leaned his head back on the headrest of the cab, his only urge now to get to his home and have a shower. As the cab slowly wound its way through the streets of Manhattan, Blaine opened his eyes and was overcome with a sense of melancholy. It always happened when he returned. He loved living in London and he knew he was more than lucky to be able to experience exciting lives on both sides of the Atlantic, but New York would always be his home. If only his job required him to return more often. Blaine sighed. He wished he hadn't had to leave New York in the first place but the move had not been purely work related. He had moved to London to be safe.

Blaine had kept his apartment and had arranged for his cleaner to spring clean two days before his arrival. He hadn't been back for three months and even though he always left his apartment spotlessly clean, he didn't want to return to the dust and musty air, or the smell of old sheets. He threw his keys onto the small table beside the door of his expensive Upper East Side apartment and left his luggage at the door. He was tired but before he would call for takeout and fall asleep, he would shower.

As soon as he turned the water off Blaine knew that he wasn't alone. He reached out and grabbed his towel, edging slowly to the side of the bathroom door so he could place his ear against it. There was only silence but Blaine had learnt to follow and take heed of his ability to sense things. Slowly he opened the door, stepped out into the hallway and tiptoed towards where he could now hear the large flat screen TV playing in his bedroom. He stopped at the threshold and crossed his arms over his chest.

"One day you'll tell me just how you know when I'm back in town."

"That would only take the fun out of it," Mystery Kurt replied not taking his eyes off the TV. "I've ordered some takeout for you. It should be here in about twenty minutes." Mystery Kurt smiled up at him from where he was sexily sprawled out over the sheets of Blaine's bed. He had even turned down the sheets on one side as an invitation and Blaine's insides stirred at the gesture.

This was Mystery Kurt, the Kurt that would waltz in and out of his life fucking his brains out whenever he was back in New York. And tonight, Blaine knew why he let Mystery Kurt do that. Clad in the tightest pair of dark trousers and accompanied by an even tighter long sleeved black shirt, he was the sexiest thing Blaine had ever seen.

Blaine stayed at the entrance of the room however, almost waiting for permission to enter even though it was his home. He couldn't help it. Whenever Mystery Kurt was present, he radiated a sense of authority, knowledge and respect that caused Blaine to remember his place as if he was in the presence of a mentor. In a way he was.

"I missed you," Blaine said, his eyes on the floor despite the fact that the exact nature of their relationship meant that there was no relationship between them.

Mystery Kurt finally managed to pull his eyes away from the screen. "No you didn't," he stated in a way that wouldn't hurt Blaine's feelings. "Come here," he added softly, lifting himself into a sitting position. He scooted himself to the end of the bed so his feet could rest on the floor and held out his hand for Blaine to take.

Blaine crossed the space dividing them and stood before Mystery Kurt. It was business as usual. Mystery Kurt twisted Blaine's body slightly so he could peer at the slight dip in his back, the place where Blaine had agreed to put his marking tattoo. Satisfied, he gently turned Blaine to face him and rose to his feet. Mystery Kurt eased his trousers down over his right hip bone and Blaine's eyes lowered, Mystery Kurt's familiar marking tattoo in plain sight.

Their eyes met and Blaine tried to keep his breath steady and his arousal in check as Mystery Kurt returned his hands to Blaine's hips, barely an inch above his towel. Mystery Kurt stared at him, a more than amused smile on his lips. "You are allowed to sleep with other men, you know," he stated calmly.

Blaine shook his head. "They just don't appeal to me," Blaine returned making eye contact again. "You just make me crumble." Blaine looked away, his eyes going to the windows where a soft breeze was causing his curtains to stir gently. "It's not fair in a way. You've said that we can't be on a permanent basis, and I have to be careful of all the other Kurt's, that doesn't leave me with much does it?"

Mystery Kurt didn't say anything and instead, with one swift tug, pulled Blaine's towel causing it to fall free and leave Blaine naked before him. He looked down willfully rubbing his hands over the sides of Blaine's legs. "I should let you sleep really," he stated.

Blaine quickly shook his head. "No, I need this. Work has been stressful, I need it."

Mystery Kurt nodded. "Get on your knees," he continued without missing a beat. Blaine dropped straightaway and Mystery Kurt brought his hand up to cup his face. He lifted Blaine's head slowly causing him to meet his gaze and then dropped his hand so he could begin to undo his belt. Mystery Kurt eased his trousers down and Blaine leaned forward to smoother himself in the delicious smell of him, the lingering hint of his clothes and his bodily sweat from the day.

Blaine called him Mystery Kurt because that's exactly what he was: a mystery. Blaine knew nothing about the man, what he did for a living or where he lived. All he knew was the he was alive because of Mystery Kurt. If it hadn't been for Mystery Kurt, he would have been found dead and according to Mystery Kurt's words, headless in some grotty run down location. It was strange really, that the calm cool blue of Mystery Kurt's eyes, identical to his attacker, could elicit such a soothing calm response in him now.

Mystery Kurt had been the one who had told Blaine about who he was, about what they all were. It had also been Mystery Kurt who had suggested that Blaine move to London. Blaine had told him how he had felt so clear-headed being so far away. How he didn't feel any others around him. How he felt safer there.

Mystery Kurt's soft moan brought Blaine back. They didn't need to talk or even guide each other anymore which only confused Blaine even more. Despite all the perfect ways that they fitted together and easily satisfied each other, Mystery Kurt would insist that they were not a perfect match. That he was not his Kurt. Blaine was destined to be with someone else. Blaine held onto the sigh that wanted to escape him and instead, opened his mouth and took Kurt whole.

"He's killed another," Mystery Kurt mentioned his fingers trailing down Blaine's spine and collecting a fine bead of his sweat on the end of his fingertips. They lay together, their legs tangled in the sheets.

Blaine blinked at the morbid change in conversation. He had been deep in thought replaying the sight of Mystery Kurt's body, his chest rippling as he had rocked steadily into him. Blaine rolled onto his back and Mystery Kurt rested his head in his hand to stare down at him.

"Did you feel it?" Blaine asked quietly as Mystery Kurt now trailed his free hand up Blaine's sternum.

Mystery Kurt nodded.

"You must be so strong now. How do you feel?"

"I feel great to be honest. I've never felt better."

Blaine almost snorted at Mystery Kurt's response. "Of course you do, the leftover power goes into you too." Mystery Kurt's hand came to settle on Blaine's collarbone and their eyes met in the dim light. Mystery Kurt's eyes were piercing and Blaine suddenly wondered whether he had said too much.

Instead, Mystery Kurt leaned down to kiss him gently. "I know I tease you and all," he whispered when he pulled away, "but I wish you would just stay in London."

"But then I would never get to see you," Blaine answered softly feeling it best that he shouldn't tell Mystery Kurt that he had sensed a Kurt there before he had left. It would only make Mystery Kurt worry about him even more.

Mystery Kurt sighed, unhappy with Blaine's response but before he could utter his discontentment, Blaine flashed him a cheeky smile, pushed him onto his back and straddled over his body. He pinned Mystery Kurt's hands down. It wasn't a serious hold. Any utterance of disagreement would cause Blaine to let him go and the fact that Mystery Kurt allowed him to do this, told Blaine how much Mystery Kurt trusted him. And that meant something.

"I'm serious, Blaine," Mystery Kurt said up to him. "Things are going to get nasty soon. They've picked up speed, both of them now knowing what can happen. They're working together somehow. You need to return to London and stay there."

It was Blaine's turn to sigh. "Fine," he answered, "I'll head back to London at the end of this weekend, but I'm sure I can fit this in before I go." Blaine shuffled himself down Mystery Kurt's body, spread Mystery Kurt's legs apart and settled himself in between.

"Such a shame," Mystery Kurt gasped as Blaine started kissing him, pushing his hips higher as Blaine eagerly sought. Mystery Kurt gasped as he felt the tip of Blaine's tongue tickle around his opening. "Yes, such a shame."

Mystery Kurt dropped his head onto the pillow and closed his eyes as Blaine pulled away and slowly eased a finger inside instead.

* * *

><p>"You'll have to excuse my clothes," Stiles stated. It was the first thing that popped into his head after he had stood there for ten seconds staring, still not believing that Lydia was actually standing before him.<p>

Lydia smiled, her large eyes crinkling slightly around edges. "Can I come in?" she asked her voice still soft and uncertain. Even after all this time Stiles could tell that Lydia was scared, worried deeply about something. She only became this fragile person when she was frightened. All other times she conquered anybody who dared to cross her path.

"How did you find me?" he asked as he led her towards the kitchen.

Lydia chuckled softly. "It wasn't that hard. After such a long time the easiest place to start would be your father's." She paused not wanting to sound like she was ridiculing him. "I have to say, I was more than surprised to find that you were still living here."

Stiles waved to the kettle, "Coffee, green tea?"

She nodded at the tea and Stiles turned the tap on to fill the kettle. He began to speak, his back towards her. "My dad was injured two years ago when he was on duty. I was able to transfer back to help take care of him. So yeah, I'm still here, in my same old room, same home, same town."

"Your dad's alright though?" Lydia asked worriedly. She felt guilty for not even knowing the reason why Stiles had returned to Beacon Hills.

Stiles turned around, leaned on the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, he's good. He was shot several times by a jail escapee. He'll never work again and he's been through hell and back with physio but he's doing much better now. I'm not completely tied down here. He can manage on his own but I like being around, just in case."

"What about…weren't your Dad and Melissa together? I thought they fell in love?"

Stiles shook his head. "They had a break for a little while, Scott's dad got in the way and once the accident happened, Melissa tried to help but my dad," Stiles sighed, "he just pushed her away."

"I'm sorry, Stiles," Lydia whispered.

"Aaah, he's doing fine but he deserves to be happy and I hadn't seen him happier than when he was with Melissa."

"No, I mean," she faltered slightly. "The last I heard, you were off to the FBI. I'm sorry that it didn't work out and that you're stuck here after everyone has moved on. At least you still have Malia, right?"

Stiles turned his back on her again as the kettle came to the boil. "She's not here," he tried to say without emotion, but Lydia could sense the feeling of rejection radiating from him. "She left," he continued, "realized the world was a much bigger place, I couldn't hold her back and make her stay. Said she would only be gone three months…but, she ur, she called me up one day and broke up with me, said she didn't want to keep me waiting."

"How long ago was that?"

Stiles dunked the teabag for several seconds before answering. "Nine months ago. She's been gone nine months."

A silence hung in the air as Stiles placed her tea on the table. She smiled up at him but Stiles caught the pitiful worry at the edge of her eyes. "You seem to have lost your spark, Stiles."

Stiles paused for a moment, surprised. It had been a long time since anyone other than his father had cared about him, or wondered how he was feeling. His eyes darkened as memories that he had buried tried to resurface. "We went through a lot, Lydia, and now we're grown up but don't worry, some of my old self is still in here." He gave her a wink for show.

He sat down in the chair opposite her and wrapped his large hands around his mug. "You don't need to feel sorry for me. I've got a good job, I'm saving money and I have a life for the most part."

Lydia smiled warmly, "Yes, I heard that you have a good job, Deputy Stilinski. I bet you look mighty fine in your uniform."

Stiles gave her a grin and forgetting his hot chocolate, leaned back in his chair, mirroring a confident cocky image of his former self.

"That's more like it," she teased but as soon as the ease soothed her, her fear returned with a sharp jolt. Stiles didn't miss it. His face dropped and he sat up straight. "You said we have a problem?"

"Yes," Lydia whispered. "I wanted to ignore it but I couldn't. There's a lot that I have to tell you. Where to start?" she thought out loud. Lydia lifted her head and stared Stiles directly in the eyes. "Do you remember that day, that last incident, that last thing that we couldn't do anything about? The one we still have hanging over our heads. The one that we decided to let go of because we decided it was fruitless to try to help."

Stiles didn't need her to say anymore. He knew exactly what she was talking about. "How could I forget?" he asked. It was impossible for any of them to forget. It was the reason why they had all eventually gone their separate ways. "Why bring it up now?"

"Because one of them out there has started killing?"

Stiles frowned. "What do you mean? Killing who?"

"One of the Blaines has started killing the Kurts."

Stiles leaned over the table his jaw dropping. "Why?! Why would he do that? They're supposed to love each other aren't they?" He paused. "How do you even know?"

Lydia leaned closer too. "I sensed it happening. I had buried my skills so deeply that I first I was so confused. I tried to ignore them but I guess as they continued, the feelings got stronger." Lydia's eyes grew wide and her voice began to shake. "I can sense one of them, Stiles, the Blaine, the Evil Blaine that is doing these murders." Lydia's voice dropped to a whisper again. "I _know_ when he's doing them. It's terrible."

Stiles rubbed his chin as he thought, "I bet it _is_ terrible for you."

"We're going to have to find Scott," Lydia suddenly blurted.

Stiles sat back and nodded knowing that she was right. This was not going to be something that they could handle alone. "The problem Lydia," he said after a large gulp of his hot chocolate, "is that that might be easier said than done. I have no idea where Scott is."

"Really?" Lydia gasped tears flooding her eyes. "After everything we all went through together. After everything we saw and we can't even pick up the phone to talk to one another."

"You can always pick up the phone to talk to me?" Stiles said without thinking. He caught himself although it was far too late and the more he tried to stop himself, the more his childhood nervous babbling took over, "You know, it's just, my phone is always on…if you wanted to call, or not, or if you needed, or not…" he slapped his hand down on the table and looked away, one of his legs starting to bounce agitatedly under the table while he tried to regain his composure. How was it, one person, one conversation could shed away everything that he had become in an instant and there he was, right back to his old teenage self as if the past five years hadn't happened. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. When he started speaking again, his voice was even. "You know Scott thought it was for the best. He got sick and tired of people going after him and I think he thought that if he disappeared then at least no one could claim that we could be used as bait. He does come around twice a year to see Melissa and he's stopped by in here to check up on me too. But going to him, that's going to be difficult."

Lydia frowned. "We can't do this by ourselves and we don't know, maybe somehow we can finally find a way to help Liam and Kira's mother."

"I hope so." Stiles leaned back in his chair. "Well, we can only start where we always start."

Lydia twisted her head in confusion.

"Derek," Stiles stated. "We're going to need Derek."

* * *

><p>Sebastian's fingers tapped randomly on his iPad. It was four o'clock in the afternoon and he had only just been able to leave the crime scene an hour earlier, although, several CSI investigators were still collecting their last pieces of evidence. For now, he had taken refuge in a diner a short way down the street and was biding his time flicking through each of the previous three cases while he waited for Santana to join him. He took a sip of his coffee as he sped through the photos of the most recent one, a homicide at another rundown motel just outside of Seattle.<p>

"Catching up, Newbie?" Santana asked slyly, sliding into his booth with a cup of coffee in her hand.

Sebastian didn't look up. "Thought it would only be fair to put myself on an equal playing field."

Santana laughed. "Don't get your panties in a twist." Sebastian looked up with unamused expression on his face. "I only got my files about five minutes before I got to the scene this morning," Santana sighed noting how he failed to have a sense of humor. "I flicked through them in the cab on the way to the crime scene. I know about as much as you do at the moment."

Sebastian felt relieved. The last thing he wanted was to be shown up by her. She was too cocky for his liking.

"We've got a lot of reading to do."

"Yes, we do," Santana agreed.

"Well, since we can't really move forward until we gone through these files in depth and gotten everything back from the labs from today," Sebastian stated clasping his hands on the table. "Why don't you tell me about yourself, since you already know so much about me?"

Santana sipped down the cheap coffee trying to suss Sebastian's angle. They hadn't spoken much throughout the day as she was too busy ensuring that not a single piece of evidence was missed, so she still wasn't too sure of his attitude towards her. From his stiff, uptight demeanor, she didn't know if it was because he was an arrogant asshole or if he was just in need of a good lay. She feared it could be both. It appeared as if he was going to civil for the time being but how they would work together was something Santana could not guess.

"There's not too much to know," she began. "I studied psychology and forensic science. I worked for a CSI unit for two years while I continued with a Masters in criminal psychology. Later, I left New York so I could complete an internship with a Dr. Alana Bloom where I discovered that I had quite a knack at profiling. So, I took Dr. Alana Bloom's advice and headed off to the FBI. I've been working for them ever since."

Sebastian nodded impressed. He had heard of Dr. Alana Bloom, about her reputation and the fact that she was working with some of the best in the FBI. Santana had to be good if she had joined on her recommendation.

Sebastian frowned suddenly remembering something he had noted in his quick skims of the previous cases. "I didn't have time to ask earlier, but did the murderer leave us a present this time?"

"Yes, he did," she pulled out her camera and flicked through her photos until she found the one she wanted. Inside a small, sealable plastic bag was a square piece of paper already secure in its evidence bag.

It was a good sign, Sebastian believed. Santana hadn't even asked him to elaborate on what he had meant. She had understood what he was after immediately. At least his new partner appeared to be competent.

Sebastian focused his attention back on the bag. From what he had briefly read, all the previous similar pieces of paper were untraceable, just a standard paper, grey and black in different shades about an inch and half by an inch and a half in size. The meaning and purpose of them eluded him.

Santana leaned forward in her seat suddenly. "I'm intrigued to know what he does with their heads. It makes me wonder at their purpose, a trophy maybe."

"Or whether it's part of hiding the victims' identities."

Santana cleared her throat. "I'm glad that you are being okay with this, with getting me as your partner."

Sebastian shrugged. "I don't think complaining about you is going to do me any good."

Santana suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

Sebastian saw it and leaned in closer. "Just don't fuck it up for me."

"I'm not about to," she told him through gritted teeth.

Sensing that he had been rude enough, he rose to his feet forcing their conversation to come to an abrupt end. "I've got some reading to do."

He didn't say anything else but turned and headed toward the exit of the diner. Santana let out a low breath as he walked away keeping her anger in check. "I'm not about to," she repeated to herself, "because it's my job that's on the line as well."

Sebastian stepped out onto the concrete footpath and sighed as a warm evening breeze hit him. He should go home and sleep or try to relax at least before he gave each case his scrutiny. He shook his weary head and sank down into his car and wondered what eight hours of straight sleep would feel like. Such wishful thinking was useless if he wanted to move up in the department. His finger rested on the edge of the CD that had ejected earlier and gently pushed it in. Happy with the music he had selected to accompany him on his journey home, he wound down the window eager for some fresh air to help remove the feeling of death that had permeated into his pores. He couldn't wait until he got home and had a shower. Sebastian looked over his shoulder and pulled out of the diner's lot, completely unaware of the pair of diligent honey-toned eyes watching him from across the street.

* * *

><p>Lydia's jaw dropped. Once where the derelict remains of the Hale home had stood and then torn down, now stood a comfortable two story home complete with fresh paint and matching curtains that could be seen from the entrance of their picket fence.<p>

"Well, this is impressive," Lydia managed trying to shake off her surprise. "Derek lives here?"

"Uh, kind of," Stiles replied.

"What happened to the loft?"

"Oh, he still has it," Stiles explained guiding her up the well-manicured winding path to the front door. "And is he still with Braeden?"

"That's," Stiles said as he lifted his hand up to knock on the door, "complicated. You'll have to ask him." Stiles paused once more, his hand up only a mere inch from the wooden surface. "It's just like old times, isn't it?"

Lydia couldn't help but smirk because despite the circumstances, it did feel like old times. "I get the feeling that you're enjoying this a lot more than me."

Stiles pulled a face, shrugged and pulled his hand back a fraction but before his knuckles could reach the door, it flew open.

Lydia and Stiles startled and took a step back.

"Werewolves," Lydia stated shaking her head. "Heard us before we arrived didn't you?"

"Pretty much," Derek stated his brooding brow hanging low as he eyed her up. "Come here," he demanded. A surge of a smile quickly replaced the scowl and he opened his arms wide.

Lydia smiled and stepped into his welcoming bear hug. When they finally pulled apart, Stiles moved forward and started to open his arms to give Derek a hug as well. Derek however glared at him, gave a low growl and turned away to let Lydia into his house.

"How come I don't get the same welcome?" Stiles genuinely sulked as he followed after them. He wasn't worried about the growl. He'd known Derek too long, their friendship ran too deep, so Stiles knew there hadn't been any real menace behind it.

"Because I see you every week almost," Derek called over his shoulder, and then he said to Lydia settling his arm around her waist. "He hasn't changed, has he?"

"Awh, come on, you know you've always been his favorite," Lydia joked. Derek snorted and Stiles huffed.

"You know the real reason why I come over all the time," Stiles said scowling.

Lydia looked back and forth between the two, lost.

"He's always running over here the moment I text him that I've gotten a postcard from Malia," Derek explained and this time when he spoke, he said it simply, in a tone that wouldn't hurt Stiles' feelings.

"Oh." Surprised and feeling somewhat uncomfortable for Stiles, Lydia tried to not make eye contact. Derek fortunately kept the conversation moving, turning it once again to the light banter that he had greeted them with. "So, after all this time, you're trying to fix your mistake, Stiles?" He guided them towards his lounge where they sat opposite each other on two large plush sofas with an expensive looking coffee table in between.

Stiles was not impressed. "That's not fair." He shuffled, getting his body comfortable on the cushion. "I've explained myself many times," he continued accusingly, "you said the red and black jar. There were three of them! How was I supposed to know which was the right one?!"

"You could have taken all three," Derek informed him with, yet again, another teasing smile.

Stiles pointed his finger at Derek while Lydia watched on with amusement. Of course no one really blamed Stiles for his mistake but it still didn't stop anyone from messing with him. "There was only me and we were on a deadline. Did you see how big those jars were?"

Derek looked at Lydia. "He falls for it every time."

"I know," she said shaking her head. "It doesn't mean it's a good thing to do though," she said reproachfully, but it was best that they got all the joking out of their system now because if they did track down Scott and Kira, they wouldn't be able to do it then. It was too close to their hearts.

"So, one of the Blaines has started killing the Kurts. Do we know why?" Derek asked. It irked Stiles to no end that Derek knew why they were there. It was as if he had been eavesdropping into their conversation the night before. Stiles twisted his head on the side and eyed Derek suspiciously. He may have done just that.

"No," Lydia answered.

"Do we know whether a Kurt is killing as well?" Derek asked.

Lydia shook her head worriedly. "I can't be sure. A Kurt could be killing but at the moment, I'm sure that I am only sensing the Evil Blaine." Derek narrowed his eyes at her and she quickly looked away. There was no doubt that Derek had heard her mistruth. Her words had not been a complete lie though. They were merely dancing around the edges, not supplying all the information that was all. But the hesitation in her voice and the heightened speed of her pulse was enough to cause her worry that Derek would know.

Derek however had tact when he needed to. For now, he would let her indiscretion pass.

"No matter what, we have to stop the Evil Blaine," Lydia spoke seriously. "And if there is an Evil Kurt killing too, what would happen if they both killed the original Kurt and Blaine? We can't let that happen, we have no idea what the implications could be for Liam and Kira's mother."

"Which means we need to include Scott," Stiles added.

"I'm going to have to track his scent," Derek informed them, "but I have to warn you, he didn't want to be found so it might take a while, he would have covered his scent."

Lydia nodded, "Just try your best but it is urgent, Derek."

They all startled at the sound of someone's phone suddenly beginning to ring through the room. Stiles quickly pulled out his phone and answered.

"Stiles?"

Stiles mouth hung open. "Scott? We…we were just talking about you."

"I guessed you might have been."

"How did you know?" Stiles glanced at Derek and Lydia, both silent as they listened in to his words.

"I might not be in regular contact with you, Stiles, but I still have eyes and ears in Beacon Hills," Scott replied.

* * *

><p>The stony straight-faced humdrum of London greeted Blaine as soon as he walked out of his apartment. It always took him a couple of days to adjust to the difference between the two cities. He breathed in deeply and headed down the busy street. It was back to work as usual.<p>

He was currently working as an editor for an entertainment magazine that focused on the performing arts and London's theatre scene. It was a popular magazine and it was widely accepted as the go-to read when a new show premiered. Reviews from the magazine had a tendency to make or break a person's career and also make or break a show.

It wasn't Blaine's chosen profession. But it was a profession that he had taken once it became apparent that performing on stage was not going to be an option for him. This instead kept him within the industry as a quiet, faceless member of the community both in London and New York. It also afforded him a relatively well paid life although for reasons unknown to Blaine he never really had to worry about money. His bank account was always full.

It was a sunny day. There would only be another week or two of summer, if they were lucky, before the weather changed. So on this warm Monday morning, he was going to make the most of it. There would be no Tube or black taxis for him. He was going to walk to work. It would take him about half an hour but he didn't care, soon there would only be days where he wouldn't get to see daylight apart from outside his office windows.

Blaine set out at a steady pace, not too fast so he could enjoy everything he passed, but fast enough so he wouldn't be late. He passed Convent Garden and continued deeper into London's entertainment district. His pace remained light, his mood merry and his smile wide. He turned onto Neal Street and stopped short mid stride.

Shit!

He scooted backwards into the doorway of a busy café, ignoring the patrons who now had to squeeze past him to walk in and out. He carefully leaned out, holding his breath. Half of his body was reeling in fear, the other half filled with genuine curiosity.

There, in plain sight, only several yards away, was a Kurt.

Blaine slowly released his breath. He hadn't been seen. He was still safe. But this was not good: a Kurt in London? The fear pulsed through him but as he watched the Kurt talking to the person beside him, Blaine began to relax. It could be an act but this Kurt didn't strike him as serial killer nor did he carry himself in the same way that his attacker had: tall and arrogant. Surely if it was that Kurt, the same Kurt that had attacked him, he would be aware that he was close. This new Kurt however only continued with his conversation laughing and chatting happily.

Blaine quickly pulled himself back into the entrance of the café as the Kurt finished talking to his companion, turned towards Blaine and started down the street, straight past his hiding spot.

Blaine paused for a moment and then stuck his head out. The need and curiosity itched underneath his skin. It was so tempting. Fuck it. Deciding to ignore all of Mystery Kurt's warnings, Blaine started to follow the Kurt down the street. He would most likely end up at work late, but having a Kurt this close could mean certain death for Blaine if he wasn't careful. On the other hand, any new Kurt for Blaine was an amazing sense of wonder and he couldn't help but feel drawn to him.

There couldn't be any harm in following him, could there?


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"So, you're sure you're not going to join us for drinks?" Ben asked leaning all too provocatively over Kurt's desk. Kurt sighed, turned away and pretended he had something important to retrieve on the other side of his little cubicle.

"For the hundredth time," Kurt answered over his shoulder. "I'm not going for drinks this afternoon. I have to get this finished!"

He heard a 'hmph' and looked up to see Ben sidle away. Kurt's shoulder's dropped. He hadn't meant to sound that rude, but what was he doing in London if he wasn't going to work on his internship at Vogue. It was an opportunity of a lifetime. It had the potential to open doors for him, a one year contract at the end, and a possible move to Paris in the future.

"I think you're just going to have to tell him you're not interested," a soft voice came from behind him. Kurt swivelled in his chair and couldn't help the smile that came to his lips as he caught sight of the cup of coffee being held in his direction. He took the cup and his eyes lifted to settle on a pair of warm brown ones. Brad's eyes were patient and polite. They were not annoying or inappropriate like Ben's. Nonetheless, they were still determined ones. Kurt could handle Brad's attention however because Brad, unlike Ben, was able to pick up on the fact that Kurt was far more interested in working on his career.

Kurt squirmed in his seat.

Truth be told, if it was in any other situation, he wouldn't be able to say no to Brad. British, charming and handsome, Brad would be a catch. Kurt's determination to get a contract at the end of his internship was not the only thing that was stopping him from going for Brad. Brad also happened to be Kurt's superior, something that would make working in the office quite complicated.

"There's another group of us going out tonight," Brad informed Kurt, pulling up a seat beside him and straightening some papers. "Just so you know that your social options don't have to depend on Ben," he pulled a face, "for fun."

Kurt took a sip of his coffee, made just how he liked it, and examined Brad quietly. "Thanks, but it's not just that it was Ben." Kurt looked back to the pictures in front of him. "I really…"

"Have to get your article finished," Brad finished for him with a laugh. He rose to his feet and gave Kurt a friendly pat on his back. "We know you're invested but don't let your whole life disappear behind your desk, Kurt."

Kurt watched Brad walk away, taking full advantage of the view of Brad's perky ass while he could. He was distracted by the sound of the other two interns who had joined him for the summer in London. They were walking towards the coffee stand and Kurt shook his head in disbelief. It was their third trip that morning. He couldn't understand how they could take their summer position so lightly. To the other two, it was a holiday, a time to go out and party every night and hand in half-botched essays written in varying states of hungoverness, sometimes on the very same morning that a piece was due. In just three weeks, Kurt would discover whether he would be able to stay on. He tried to put an edge to every piece he handed in. He went the extra mile, setting up interviews with the designers before the shows if they had time. His witty sense of humour and sharp eye allowed him to paint pictures with words describing the designers' outfits that, unknown to him, left the editor's mouths watering. There was only one position and Kurt believed and hoped that he was the only serious contender. If he didn't get it, he would not only be furious, he would be heartbroken.

Kurt sighed as he heard the two interns giggling on the other side of the office. He bent his head back down over the photos he lain out before him and then gazed at the notes that he had taken the day before at the fashion show he had attended. His aim was to finish the rough copy by the end of the day.

It wasn't for hours later however until Kurt lifted his head and gazed around the empty office, blinking in surprise at the darkened sky outside the windows. He glanced at the clock and rubbed his eyes sleepily. It was almost half past nine. He had been at work for 13 hours. He would gladly stay until midnight but he had to ensure he could catch the last train before The Tube closed. Kurt was also hungry. He hadn't eaten a thing since lunch and even then it had been a quick mouthful of the salad he had packed. He couldn't even remember whether he had finished it or not.

He stood up, his body stiff and aching from the position he had been sitting in for so long and stretched up onto his toes. It was time to make a move. He could come in for a couple of hours tomorrow morning; it would be a Saturday but there would be other people there as well. He was not the only workaholic within the premises, another reason why he was determined to prove to management that he was willing to work his butt off to make it.

With his belongings all gathered, he threw his nap snack over his shoulder and headed for the door. It closed behind him with a loud click and Kurt instantly swore. He was the last one to leave for the night and he'd just locked himself out in the middle of a rain storm without an umbrella. He glanced up and down the near empty street, the water on the cement capturing and reflecting the lights from the buildings. It was quite a beautiful sight but tonight, Kurt couldn't appreciate it. He swore again. It had been five weeks since he had first arrived in London, and yet he still forgot London's tendency to rain, drizzle, or spit at any opportunity it could take. His outfit was going to get ruined.

Kurt turned around to look at the door hopefully, but it was really of no use. The company automatically locked people out once it got past seven o'clock at night. His pin code would not work now. He was just going to have to make a run for The Tube.

With a hop and skip, Kurt leapt over several puddles, dashing out into the rain. He drew his shoulders up and tried to minimize how much of himself would get wet. Despite his efforts, the water fell onto his head, flattening down his hair and started to run down the sides of his face.

"May I be of some assistance?"

Kurt spun around, recognizing the familiar American accent and found himself looking into the most unusual and exquisite pair of eyes he'd ever seen. The stranger stared back at him with a gentle warm smile and continued,

"You don't want to go and ruin that wonderful outfit, after all."

Kurt glanced down at his clothes and then back up at the man who was dry apart from the splatter of water that had managed to soak up and wet the bottom of his trousers. He glanced up at the umbrella that was now over his head preventing more water from sliding down his neck and under his clothes. Kurt smiled back at the man appreciatively. It wasn't every day that he was rescued in such a manner.

"Are you sure?" Kurt asked.

"Where are you heading?" The stranger asked, not skipping a beat.

"Just to The Tube."

"Oh, I don't think it will be any trouble at all," he smiled. "It's only another two hundred feet or so. I think I can handle escorting a beautiful stranger for such a short amount of time."

Kurt blushed and he hated how his stomach instantly flopped at the man's words. The stranger turned his body so they were standing side by side and placed his hand gently on Kurt's lower back indicating that they should keep moving. It was a touch that sent tingles through Kurt's body.

"It's Blaine, by the way. And seriously, what kind of man would I be if I left you to defend this horribly, drizzly London weather without an umbrella?"

Kurt laughed, feeling flustered by the charismatic attention that he was suddenly receiving. He was all too used to Ben bestowing his over the top innuendo-filled comments. Blaine had a whole other style.

"Kurt," he said offering his free hand to shake. It was taken within Blaine's and Kurt was impressed by his firm grip.

They smiled at each other for a moment until Kurt realized that Blaine was waiting for him to say more. "You're American," Kurt said stating the obvious. He blushed even further as his stupid comment and moved even closer into Blaine's side, hoping that he wouldn't notice the way he had breathed in deeply when the smell of Blaine's cologne had reached his nose.

"So, you live in London too?" Kurt asked.

"Yes, I work here," Blaine explained, his eyes on the path to ensure they missed the deeper puddles. "And what about you?" he asked turning the attention off of himself. "Have you been in old London town long?"

"Only five weeks. I'm doing an internship at Vogue. I have another three weeks to go."

"Ah, so I bet you're packing it all in, visiting all the sights while you can," Blaine stated, even though his words couldn't be more further from the truth. He had been following and watching Kurt for two days now, long enough to know that this Kurt didn't have a life. It was one of the reasons why Blaine had finally decided to approach him. He raised his hand to rest on Kurt's shoulder and guided Kurt around a rather large puddle of water.

Kurt blushed, half from the effect that Blaine's arm was having on him, and half because in all the time that Kurt had been in London, he hadn't managed to tick off one item on his sightseeing list.

"I actually haven't had the time to see anything," Kurt said quickly. "I've been too busy."

Blaine's arm dropped and he stopped in pretend shock, forcing Kurt to do the same unless he wanted to have the rain splattering on his shoulders again. Kurt watched Blaine's eyes narrow.

"Forgive me because I know it's not my place," Blaine began taking Kurt by the arm again but it wasn't to continue to guide Kurt, they just remained there on the spot. "But do you plan to come back to London anytime soon?"

"I, I..I don't know, to be honest," Kurt stammered looking away. He was finding the feeling of Blaine's tender grip on his arm far too distracting than it ought to be. Geez, it had been too long since he had allowed himself any physical contact with another human being. "If I get the contract that's being offered at the end of it, I'll stay."

Blaine nodded thinking to himself. "I think you're a little like me, Kurt."

Kurt risked a look at Blaine again. It was a risky thing to do though when he was so good looking and standing so close.

"You're a bit of perfectionist and you have high standards. You won't take anything but the best. But tell me, Kurt," Blaine said, his voice lowering, "what is life if you don't live a little?"

Kurt ducked his head again. How could he tell Blaine, this complete stranger, how important this job really was to him? That it was his opportunity that could let him escape everything about his childhood that he hated. To permanently get away from the town that had trapped him. He wanted to be free and he really was in one of the best cities in the world if he wanted to experience that, but he had to work hard if he wanted to maintain it.

"I will go and see everything. I intend to." Kurt didn't need anyone to tell him that he hadn't sounded convincing.

They came to a stop outside of The Tube and Kurt gazed at the entrance with disappointment. He had quite enjoyed his walk under the umbrella with Blaine. Firstly, he wasn't annoying and secondly, he wasn't in a position above Kurt at work.

"Thanks for protecting me from the rain," Kurt said when Blaine didn't respond.

Blaine smiled in his direction but he looked as if his thoughts were elsewhere. Kurt shrugged to himself. Obviously Blaine had just been polite. He probably helped umbrellaless individuals every day. When he still didn't get a response, Kurt stepped out from under the umbrella and turned towards the entrance.

"Thanks once again," he called over his shoulder.

His last words seemed to knock Blaine out of his daze. "Wait…" Blaine stepped after Kurt and grabbed his arm to pull him back, and Kurt's heart came up to his throat when he saw how intensely Blaine was staring at him. He swallowed uneasily because Blaine continued to stare, searching his face and analysing the contours of his skin as if he was trying to figure out the answer to the most important question of his entire life. It was quite unnerving. Finally, Blaine shook his head and Kurt feared that Blaine's next words were not going to be pleasant although he had no idea as to what he had just done.

"How about this," Blaine started placing a gentle hand on Kurt's shoulder, and causing Kurt to melt into his touch even though he wasn't directly touching his skin. There was even a pleasant warmth coming off of it that began to sooth Kurt. "I'm very busy during the week but every Saturday morning, starting from tomorrow for just a couple of hours, how about I be your personal tour guide and show you some of the sights of London?"

Kurt's mouth dropped open at the offer. This debonair man was offering to take him sightseeing? Would that include a personal tour of what was underneath his clothes as well? Kurt shook his head trying to get rid of his thoughts. He had to think rationally. Yes, it was a great offer but he was meant to be finishing his article tomorrow … then again, standing before him was one of the most handsome and incredibly well-spoken American men he had ever met. There was something there as well, that instant attraction, and that same tug that Kurt had felt when he had discovered this opportunity to go to London, resurfaced itself. The same tug pulled him now, towards Blaine, something inside telling him that everything about this was right. And before Kurt could think more on it, his brain in a foggy daze, he found himself nodding. Maybe he could afford a few hours once a week to see the sights of London.

Kurt stepped closer. "Alright, it sounds like a plan."

They exchanged numbers and Kurt promised to meet Blaine at Charing Cross at nine o'clock the following morning. They were going to see Buckingham Palace. "We can walk down The Mall and enjoy some of St James Park on our way. How does that sound?"

Kurt tried to contain his growing excitement. "It sounds wonderful."

"Good," Blaine smiled agreeably. "We can watch The Changing of the Guard and then maybe have coffee."

Kurt couldn't respond. Coffee as well; he only hoped he wasn't reading too much into Blaine's plans for the next day.

Blaine held out his hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Kurt."

Kurt placed his hand in Blaine's and tried to refrain from letting his stomach flutter from the mere contact of their skin. He was so caught up that he didn't notice when Blaine glanced down and turned Kurt's hand over to stare at it. It was only when Blaine frowned that Kurt looked down and snatched his hand away.

"It's just a scar," he muttered.

Blaine's frown deepened, "Looks quite impressive to me." Blaine slowly reached out and took Kurt's hand within his again. He began to rub his thumb over the scar and all of a sudden, a warmth, similar to the one he had felt when Blaine had put his hand on his back, began to flow into Kurt's hand and up his body. "Maybe you can tell me about it tomorrow?" Blaine suggested.

Entranced, Kurt didn't answer as the heat that had entered his body was too comforting. After all the stress that he had been feeling from trying to gain the contract, the discomfort of knowing that he was missing out on seeing this amazing city, he suddenly felt so at peace, so calm.

Blaine released his hold and Kurt startled back to attention, the noise of water spraying up over the curb from a passing taxi, the hustle and bustle of the people hurrying through the turn-spike that led into The Tube, the sound of woman chatting softly on her phone only a short distance away. It all seemed so loud, so crystal clear, so sharp. Kurt swallowed uncertainly. He had no idea what had just happened or how long he had been standing there in a daze.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Kurt," Blaine said warmly and this time, the smile on Blaine's face had a new shade of warmth. Blaine bade farewell and turned to leave, and Kurt, still confused by what had just happened to him and not wanting to look like a crazy person, smiled politely and waved goodbye. He wasn't quite capable of forming words just yet.

After another couple of seconds, Kurt gathered his wits and turned towards the station. He stopped however, ducking round to stand beside one of the pay machines to gain his bearings. He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. Meeting Blaine had been unexpected indeed. He slowly walked back and looked out into the street and frowned in disappointment. Blaine had already disappeared into the night. Without any other chance of getting a glimpse of the man, Kurt turned, pulled out his tube pass and pushed his way through the turn spike to head towards the escalators that would take him down to the train line he needed.

* * *

><p>"Stiles!" Kira exclaimed throwing her front door open so fast it slammed into the wall. She surged forward and flung her arms over his shoulders. "It's so good to see you!" Before he could respond, she had already moved on to Lydia grabbing her with so much vigour Lydia and Stiles exchanged a surprised look.<p>

"Please," Kira said. "Please come in."

Stiles and Lydia stepped into the small isolated cottage that Scott had given them directions to, deep in the mountains of North Carolina. It was a homely place, furnished simply but cosily. Lydia breathed in relief, at least Scott and Kira seemed to be living comfortably despite being in the middle of nowhere. There was a simple three seater couch in front of a fire place, an animal rug on the floor, framed pictures on the walls and a fire place in the corner, a much needed element in the cold winter months.

Lydia knew that Scott had wanted to escape and get away from all of the horror that had kept finding them, but she hadn't expected Scott to go this far. She was suddenly consumed with pity for Kira, the two of them tucked away, far from civilization. Did they ever leave?

"I would know both of your scents from miles away." A deep quiet voice came from behind them. Stiles and Lydia spun on their heels to find Scott standing at the entrance of the room.

They were both shocked at seeing him again. It was still the same old Scott, the one who made his presence known by lowering his head and staring a person down with his brooding eyes and broad shoulders. Maybe it was the facial hair that he had allowed to grow, or the dirt he had let gather in his finger nails from many a night traipsing in the woods, or maybe it was the clothes on his back that looked they had been worn one time too many that gave him such an ominous look. Never before had he looked more werewolf without even having made the change into werewolf.

"Come," he said knowing that they were surprised by his appearance. "I'm glad you came, we've got a lot to catch up on."

The night was cool even though only the night before, Autumn had only been a hint in the air. The fire place was lit and they sat around the small lounge room, Kira and Scott cosily sitting hand in hand with Lydia on the other end of the sofa, her feet covered with a blanket while Stiles sat on the rug, another blanket thrown over his shoulders.

"You're lucky that we had any of that left," Kira said. Scott lazily threw his arm around her shoulders and she snuggled into the side of his body.

"Well, I don't mean to be rude," Lydia began with a twinkle in her eye. "But I did spy that this hot chocolate is nearly a month out of date. When was the last time either of you left here?"

Scott and Kira exchanged a look and shrugged.

"Probably not since the start of summer," Scott said and Kira nodded.

"We don't really need that many supplies during summer," Kira commented. "But now that winter is coming, we will make a trip."

"I still can't believe you're here," Stiles said from the floor, "living this close to nature, being in nature. Talk about getting away from it all."

"That was the point." Scott sat forward and dropped his head into hands as he was forced to recall what had caused him to break up his pack and move to the woods all the way on the other side of the country. The silence that followed Stiles' statement resonated around the room and no one could question what Scott was thinking about. The guilt was too heavy in his heart. It was a guilt that he had never been able to shake. "It was necessary at the time. You know how it was," Scott said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked back to Kira whose eyes had flooded with tears and took her hand within his. "I couldn't fix what had happened and I…"

Lydia saved him from having to restate what he never wanted to have to say again, "Where is he now?"

"He's in an institution not far from here," Kira answered. "We thought," she paused and gave Scott's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "We wanted Liam to be as far as a way from Peter as possible. Eichen house was not going to be possible. It's one of the reasons why we choose North Carolina, there's a private facility that takes really good care of him."

"And what about your mother?" Stiles also asked carefully not wanting to upset Kira.

Kira's eyes flooded with tears and she looked away unable to answer.

"Nothing," Scott said for her. "We haven't heard anything. It's as if she really has disappeared off the face of the planet."

Stiles and Lydia nodded. They wouldn't say anything else. The topic was still too sensitive for both of them, and for Scott, he probably would never come to terms with the fact that no matter how strong of a werewolf he was, no one, not even him, could help Liam or Kira's mother.

Scott looked over his shoulder back to Kira. Lydia and Stiles both didn't know what exchanged between them, there had been no inkling of emotion on their faces. Maybe they had been together, isolated and alone in the woods for so long that they didn't need to talk anymore. They could sense what the other was thinking by mere scent alone.

Scott suddenly looked back to Stiles. "So why now, Stiles? Why have you started to track everyone down?"

"I have to warn you, Scott," Stiles said softly. "It's going to hurt. It's about that very case, with what happened to Liam and those two guys I met on that day, and Kira's mother…."

Kira dropped her head and closed her eyes as another silence fell on the room.

"Oh!" Lydia suddenly exclaimed. Startled by her outburst, the three turned to look at her.  
>Lydia, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open in shock, had one hand holding her spilled mug of hot chocolate and her other hand held up in front of her face while she examined it.<p>

"What's wrong?" Stiles asked.

"We're going to have to act quickly because the original Kurt and Blaine have just found each other," she whispered as if the very pair she had just spoken about would have heard her. Lydia's eyes returned to the skin on the top of her hand near her index finger. She could still feel the warm, caring touch of his thumb, Blaine's thumb, as if it had been her very own hand that he had touched.

Scott's eyes narrowed. "It seems as if you do have a story for me."

* * *

><p>"So, how can I help you this evening?" Hairdresser Kurt asked.<p>

Evil Blaine met his eyes in the mirror as Hairdresser's Kurt's hands clipped the plastic protector at the back of his neck. It was followed by a more than flirtatious smile towards Evil Blaine's reflection as he smoothed the creases out over Evil Blaine's shoulders.

Oh, this was going to be too easy.

"I'm here just for a tidy up."

Hairdresser Kurt gave him a devilish wink. "Oh, I'm sure I can do a hell of a lot more than that. Follow me. We'll give those curls a good wash and treatment." He strutted away without giving Evil Blaine the option to decline, swivelling his hips with just the right amount that it wasn't too extravagant, but with enough sass that Evil Blaine was forced to stare after him. Evil Blaine licked his lips and rose to his feet more than happy to oblige.

"My, my," Hairdresser Kurt exclaimed as he started to run the tepid water through Evil Blaine's hair, slowly easing his fingers through at the same time. "Someone has been letting these curls run wild."

Evil Blaine didn't answer. He closed his eyes, folded his hands over his chest and couldn't stop the faint smile from coming to his lips. Originally he had planned two weeks to track down and kill both Kurts. But here he was with Rich Kurt already seen too, and his second victim playing straight into his hands. He was going to be successful in just five days.

Hairdresser Kurt flirted the entire time. It was probably part of his entire routine, the way that he acted with all of his clients trying to let them know that they were special and that he cared enough so they would come back. There was an intensity to Hairdresser Kurt's words however that allowed Evil Blaine know that he wanted him, badly. Evil Blaine wouldn't hold it against him. It was part of the curse and Evil Blaine wanted him just as much.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Hairdresser Kurt asked once he had finished, both of his hands resting on Evil Blaine's shoulders.

Evil Blaine met his gaze in the mirror one last time. "Maybe there is actually."

Hairdresser Kurt smiled almost in relief. He leaned forward and whispered into Evil Blaine's ear. "What did you have in mind?"

"Maybe we could go somewhere right now, just you and me."

The fingers on Evil Blaine's shoulders tightened and Hairdresser Kurt leaned down and whispered into Evil Blaine's ear. "Meet me out in the alleyway at the back of the shops in five minutes."

The alleyway at the rear of the salon was dark, damp and full of trash. Somehow they found a spot under the fire escape ladder that afforded them with enough privacy. Hairdresser Kurt was pushed against the wall and Evil Blaine was on his knees tugging on Hairdresser Kurt's trousers with an urgency and desperation he hadn't felt before. His hunger and need was growing stronger with every kill.

"I don't even fucking care if you think I'm a fucking slut," Hairdresser Kurt gasped as he began to thrust into Evil Blaine's mouth.

Evil Blaine didn't respond to his words. It wasn't the ideal location and Evil Blaine knew that he was taking a great risk, but when he had a Kurt so eager and wanting, what else could he do? And besides, he wouldn't kill Hairdresser Kurt there, right in the open and behind the salon where his colleagues were sure to find him. He had to do it somewhere else so he could dump the body and slow the cops while they tried to match his mutilated remains with Missing Persons, if they could.

"You can think I'm the biggest fucking slut in the world," Hairdresser Kurt kept going. "You can think I'm whatever you want if it means I get to put my cock down your throat." Hairdresser Kurt suddenly reached down and clasped his finger and thumb tightly around one of Evil Blaine's nipples and pinched it tightly. It was a vicious grasp and Evil Blaine pulled back, hissing in response, his dick pulsing in his pants.

"Like that did you?" Hairdresser Kurt asked. He pinched Evil Blaine's nipple even harder but Evil Blaine pulled Hairdresser Kurt's fingers off and swiftly bought Hairdresser Kurt's hand down to his crotch, placing his palm onto Evil Blaine's dick. Apparently getting his hand onto Evil Blaine's bulging trousers was enough to send Hairdresser Kurt over the edge. He came suddenly, unexpectedly, half of his cum landing safely in Evil Blaine's mouth and the rest on his chin and upper shirt.

Evil Blaine licked his lips slowly as Hairdresser Kurt panted for breath. "Oh fuck, that was great. You're so big, I couldn't help myself. Can't wait to get that dick inside of me!"

The sound of a police siren slowly gliding past their lane startled them both and they quickly sank to their haunches. The car stopped and a flashlight bounced off the walls and down into the alleyway. Maybe they had been too loud and someone had called the cops on their asses. Shit, would the cops come that quickly? Depends on how close they were, Evil Blaine guessed.

"Your hand," Hairdresser Kurt said frowning, "get it off me! It hurts!"

Evil Blaine glanced down. He could feel a heat escaping his fingers but he hadn't been focusing on it. Hairdresser Kurt grumbled some more and tried to free his arm from Evil Blaine's hold.

"Hey!" Hairdresser Kurt hissed still worried that the officers in the car would hear them. "I said let go of me! You're burning me!"

Curious as to what was happening, Evil Blaine maintained his grip. He had heard of the other Kurts and Blaines having powers. Was this his power that was coming forth now that he was getting stronger? He could always hurt people but this was different. This was a new way to inflict pain. Hairdresser Kurt yelped loudly.

Evil Blaine glared at Hairdresser Kurt. He was starting to get on Evil Blaine's nerves. First of all, it was Hairdresser Kurt's fault that for the first time Evil Blaine had not stuck to his well calculated plans. Secondly, Hairdresser Kurt should have been more careful. Evil Blaine didn't want to walk around town with cum all over his face and clothes. Thirdly, Hairdresser Kurt needed to stay there and take the pain that he was inflicting so Evil Blaine could figure out what the hell was going on. Hairdresser Kurt was weak and he would draw attention to their spot under the fire escape if he didn't shut up and stop whining.

Evil Blaine's annoyance shifted to anger as Hairdresser Kurt continued to struggle against him and Evil Blaine, without even thinking, wrapped his free hand around Hairdresser's throat and whipped his wrist to right. Hairdresser Kurt's neck snapped and his dead body slumped in his hands.

Evil Blaine swore out loud. His night had not gone to plan at all. He had gotten ahead of himself and now he was at risk of getting caught. He growled his anger out, under his breath, trying to pull it in, fear he lose control completely.

Fortunately, the patrol car hadn't seen or heard anything to warrant their interest to investigate and the car continued on. Evil Blaine's shoulders relaxed but he wasn't in the clear just yet. He gave his hands one last curious glance and then proceeded to devise a plan so he could move Hairdresser Kurt's body to the motel he had originally intended for his murder to take place. He would cut off Hairdresser Kurt's head when he got there.

* * *

><p>"So, we know it's always the same," Sebastian began staring at the display board he had created in his office. "The victims are all healthy males, determined to be in their twenties, and consensual sex has occurred. I started with the theory of unrequited love, then the angered lover, then a hate crime, or even a hate crime where the murderer hates himself, but you're the specialist here in the profiling."<p>

"Hmm," Santana nodded. "I've started to put together some ideas but I'm interested in hearing what you have to say."

Sebastian paused collecting his thoughts before he carried on. "The deaths are never staged. There is no care or presentation, which suggests someone who is in a rush and hasn't really planned his murder carefully. As I've have come to suspect however, the murderer has actually planned everything down to the last detail. As blood messy as these murders are, the lack of the murderer's blood, semen, fingerprints, or fibres or any other identifying evidence at the scene, suggests a calculating intelligent individual."

Santana nodded in agreement. "He is certainly well organized and it's not just the lack of evidence during the crime, but it's the before and after as well."

"Yes," Sebastian nodded his head, "he plans his routes well, manages to miss surveillance and the missing security recordings from the motels he frequents, and he only uses cash to pay for the rooms…" Sebastian folded his arms over his chest. "It all leads to someone who knows exactly what they're doing."

"So far," Santana began, "I'm thinking a young, healthy, strong male, bent on revenge. The sex, I think, is not out of hate. I think it's a necessity. He needs the sex. He needs that connection with the person before he kills them. He enjoys the whole process but once they're dead, that's it."

"Have you seen the quirk in there?" he asked.

Santana frowned and side-eyed him.

"Compare the blood work," he told her getting straight to the point, "and more specifically, the DNA results."

Santana was silent as she re-examined the data. She lifted her head frowning, "It must be a mistake. They can't be the same."

"You're telling me," Sebastian replied. "Don't worry, I'm already waiting for some call backs from some enquiries I've made into the results, someone's certainly screwed up along the way."

Shit, he moved fast. It was Santana's turn to feel impressed and despite her initial hesitations, she was starting to believe that they would work well together. They both had their own special set of skills that would complement each other. She was the profiler and Sebastian was able to examine all the information and put it back together again.

Sebastian's phone suddenly began to ring, preventing any further conversation. Santana moved away and continued to examine the wall before her trying to see something, anything new that would help them. She startled when Sebastian's hand suddenly rested on her arm.

"There's been another murder," he told her.

* * *

><p>"Fucking hell!" Sebastian muttered, coming to a stop on the safe side of the yellow police tape. He had meant for it to come out under his breath, but his words had been much louder and several people close by lifted their heads at his outburst.<p>

Santana came to stand beside him. "Looks like our killer is getting more confident and eager," she said. "Twice in one week?"

Santana held out a cup of Starbucks coffee in Sebastian's direction and his eyes rose in surprise. Firstly because he didn't know when she had found the time to buy one since they had arrived together and secondly, he didn't know if she was offering him the drink or whether she was asking him to hold it.

She nodded again. "I picked you up a cup as well, thought you might need it."

Sebastian took it but didn't take a sip straightaway. Wherever Santana had found a Starbucks in the scummy neighbourhood, it had been close by. The contents on the other side of the paper promised to scold his mouth if he dared to take a sip right then and there.

"Let me guess," Santana began with just the right amount of sass that would annoy him, "Are you more pissed that some poor soul has ended up dead or the fact that it's more pressure on your shoulders?"

Sebastian scowled in her direction. He hated how she was so spot on. "Both," he spat. Heck, he wasn't going to lie about it.

"So what if you're the only FBI agent who hasn't solved a murder yet. At least you're trying," Santana continued to tease.

Sebastian looked at her reproachfully. "So you have?"

Santana simply nodded, frowned at the memory of it and then smiled when she saw Sebastian's shoulders deflate.

"Come on Newbie, finish up your coffee and I'll see you on the other side, I want to make sure they don't miss a thing."

Sebastian surveyed the motel room and spotted Wes. At least the full team was back again. He was about to head towards him when he noted Santana frozen on the spot, her hands on her hips.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Something's not right."

Sebastian looked around the room wondering what on earth could be right about the headless corpse lying on the bed before them.

Santana was quiet for a moment and chewed on her bottom lip. "I can't be certain for now but if you check the blood spatter, or the lack of it, I'd say our victim was not killed here."

Sebastian's head flicked back to the body and took his own assessment, and then it dawned on him.

"You're right. The guy is also fully dressed." He stepped closer to the bed and stood over the corpse. "From first appearances, there's been no sex here."

Santana quirked an eyebrow and stepped closer.

"On second thoughts," Sebastian added when she reached his side. "Wes, get a sample of this stain on victim's trousers." Sebastian glanced at Santana with a little smirk, "Looks like they might have been some action after all."

Santana glanced at the stain and tried not to gag, and Sebastian resisted the urge to chuckle. "After all the dead bodies you've seen, you're going to throw up at the sight of some dried cum on a victim's trousers?" he asked.

Santana covered her mouth with her arm and tried to glare up at him. "Any money," she started her voice slightly muffled, "it's the victim's but I'm hoping that since things went differently this time, maybe our murderer wasn't as careful as the other ones."

"Or it could be a copycat," Sebastian commented, although he was desperate to think that it wasn't.

Santana dropped her arm and took in the rest of the room. "I don't think so," she said after a moment had passed.

"I think he wanted it so badly, he couldn't stop himself and his usual plan went out of the window."

"I guess we'll see," Sebastian replied and he moved on to continue to inspect the scene.

Twelve hours later, Sebastian sank onto a bench several feet away from the motel room. They would have to wait for the results for both murders now before they could really try to ascertain whether they had any new information to go on. He hated the waiting game.

Santana wiped her brow as she left the motel room as well. She spotted Sebastian and crossed the space separating them and stood before him. "What do you say," she began. "I'm meeting with an old friend tonight and having some drinks. You should join us."

Sebastian glanced at her in surprise and then shook his head. He didn't know whether it annoyed him or irked him that his arrogant attitude towards her continued to wash off her shoulders. She was not fazed by him one bit.

"Nah, I don't think so," he replied. "I was thinking of going home and rereading over the case files and see if I find anything new."

"Sebastian," Santana stated firmly squatting down on her haunches before him, "it's been a long day. It's alright to have a break. In fact, we've had a big week. A drink or two will let us relax and we might think of something we've looked over." She shrugged as she stood back up. "I do it all the time."

Sebastian didn't answer but he wasn't considering her offer, he was frustratingly mulling over how they could not move forward until they got the results back. He was also feeling an undeniable pressure. Five murders now, two in one week. It was not good.

Santana rested her arm on her shoulder. It was a move that was uncharacteristically gentle. "It'll do you some good," she continued. "Give yourself a break. Pick up a chick or something." Sebastian turned his head at the something and hoped immediately that she hadn't picked up on it.

"You seem overly keen to get me out," he commented.

Santana shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, from how stiff and tense you are I'm guessing it's been over a year since you've gotten laid, so there's that too."

Sebastian's face dropped at how brazen she had just been.

Unworried in the least as to his reaction, Santana gave him a wink and Sebastian sighed. There would be no use getting mad at her, it would only imply that she was right and in actual fact, she was.

"So, you mean we can't see the forest for the trees?" he replied refusing to acknowledge her previous remark.

Santana smiled. Despite his attitude, she found herself liking Sebastian. "Yeah, something like that."  
>Sebastian thought for a few moments, but his father's face loomed before his mind's eye, that foreboding, stern, hard expression, telling him that he wouldn't make it on his own. His days of play were over. Sebastian was a new person committed to his job.<p>

"Maybe next time, Santana," he answered. He tucked his iPad under his arm and headed straight towards his car. He was expecting Santana to argue, to insist that he did join them but she simply crossed her arms over her chest and watched him get into his car and pull out of the driveway.

It was a lonely drive back to his apartment; no music, no radio, just the window wound down so the fresh air could blow onto his face. His apartment was just as lonely. The layout was simple with minimal furniture that was a far cry for the luxuries that he had grown up with. He had everything he needed however: a room to sleep in, gym equipment that really didn't get any use anymore, a cosy lounge with a TV and a small kitchen coming off of it.  
>Sebastian paid no heed to all it. He was headed for the shower. He placed his work carefully on his desk, stripped off his clothes and stepped under the nozzle without even waiting for the hot water to run through. His hands worked furiously as the water gradually became warmer and warmer until it was near scolding, scrubbing and scrubbing until he believed that he had removed all of the remnants of the day.<p>

His mind continued to race, still trying to gain some order in his head. How on earth were they going to catch this guy when he never left behind any evidence? What the hell was behind those small square pieces of paper he kept leaving behind because even though the victim seemed to have been killed somewhere else, the murderer had still been prepared and a new small piece of paper had been left behind. Maybe something had gone wrong and he was forced to kill his victim earlier. And then, there were the other cases. How could such a mistake happen with the victims' blood and DNA results? And, how the hell was he supposed to sleep tonight now that all he could see when he closed his eyes was the headless victims from the past week?

It shouldn't be bothering him. All the murder cases he had been privy too in the past had remained at work, he had always been able to switch off when he needed to. There was something about this case that was starting to work under his skin. It was silly, it was something he kept trying to shake off that somehow, someway he was inexplicably involved or soon to be involved in these murders in a way that exceeded his FBI requirements.

Sebastian sighed at the gut feeling and tried to push the thoughts aside. He didn't want these thoughts mulling around in his head. Maybe listening to someone else this time was going to be the right thing to do. Heck, he might as well give it a try because right now, no matter how much reading he did tonight, he didn't believe for one moment he would be able to get his brain to clear enough to allow him to sleep.

"I've changed my mind," he said into his phone, a towel wrapped around his waist and small beads of water scattered over his shoulders and back. "Where and when can I meet you?"

"Newbie! Fabulous!" Santana cried sounding genuinely happy to hear from him.

Sebastian went about getting himself ready. He hadn't been out for fun in a long time and his wardrobe reflected that especially now that he had to pay for his own clothes. He pulled on a pair of pale blue washed jeans and a dark blue buttoned up shirt. They were neither labels but they fitted his lean body nicely although that was out of sheer luck than planning. Time had changed since Sebastian had been a worldly travelled snob in his teenage years.

Without giving himself time to rethink his plans, Sebastian grabbed his cars keys and headed for his car.  
>In the end, Sebastian was impressed by the location that Santana had picked. The bar had a good source of music, a live stage for when they had visiting bands, plenty of pool tables and a decent sized open courtyard with an abundance of trees and tables. He spied Santana sitting outside looking at her phone and headed her way.<p>

"Have you heard back from the other cases?" he asked leaning over the table so Santana could hear him over the din of the music and chatter around them.

Santana shook her head and smiled when two shots were placed in front of her. She handed one over to Sebastian.  
>He pushed the small glass back towards her. He had agreed to come out but he hadn't agreed to get wasted.<br>Santana rolled her eyes. "Come on, Newbie! Unwind a little. Let's chat. We should get to know each other since we're going to be working together."

Sebastian watched her as her body moved with the music and her eyes wandered over the people in the bar. She was being quite rude, really, never giving him her full attention. He leaned back thinking that his decision to go out for the night had been a waste of time after all. "How can you be so relaxed?" he asked after several minutes, his patience wearing thin. "Aren't you the least bit worried that there are five murders now?"

Santana stopped swaying to the music and eyed him closely. "Look, the way I see it, we can't do anything else until we hear back from all the cases. And for me, I've never been one for sitting alone by myself rereading things I've already read. And once it's in my head, I need to get out, get away from it and be with other people to let my mind process it. I watch other people. I watch them being social, being happy and being mad. I watch their mannerisms, their laughter, their hate. For some reason watching people's behavior in this kind of set up helps me to join all the dots on the stuff floating around in my head. It's how I profile." She smiled in his direction and shoved the shot glass back across the table towards him.

Sebastian sighed, picked it up and downed the drink.

Half an hour later Sebastian started to feel the effects of the shot and the bottle of beer that he had finished and, he could honestly say, Santana was right. He started to feel himself unwind. He chatted with some strangers around the pool table once Santana's friend appeared and enjoyed some conversations at the bar. He had all but forgotten that he really didn't have a life outside of work.

At one stage, Sebastian found himself alone at the bar. Unfazed because he was used to spending so much time on his own anyway, he sat on a stool and leaned on the counter to take in the scene of the people around him enjoying their night when, all of a sudden, through the haze of people, pool tables and lights, Sebastian's eyes fell on another figure on the opposite side of the courtyard.

He took a slow swig on his third bottle of beer. The other man's face was hidden in the shadows but Sebastian didn't need to see it to know that he was staring at him. His presence, it was tempting and threatening all at the same time.

The man moved his head to the right, allowing the light to fall on his face - a handsome strong face that was pointed directly at him. Sebastian sucked in his breath and continued to watch while the man lifted his hand, took a deep pull on his cigarette and let a strong billow of smoke escape his mouth.

"What's caught your fancy?" Santana asked leaning against the bar beside him. Sebastian snapped back to attention and looked at her piercingly.

"Nothing, nothing's caught my fancy at all," he stated firmly.

"Uhmm," she replied with a quirky smile tugging on her top lip.

They both looked back across the courtyard and startled to find that the man, that ever so fine man with the dark curly hair, had disappeared.

Sebastian glanced back at Santana nervously. "It was nothing."

"Sure, it was nothing," she chuckled smugly.

Sebastian coughed uncomfortably and tugged at his clothes. "I'm going to the restroom."

Sebastian sighed inwardly. Yet again, his desire was also something that had been put on hold in his pursuit of his career. Sebastian was more than comfortable with who he was but in his drive to obtain his dream, he had not told anyone of his tendency to prefer men over women, or well his tendency to prefer men altogether. He knew times were more liberal and people were more accepting, but in a dominating male industry, Sebastian didn't want anything to shadow or overplay what he was really capable of. No one in the FBI apart from Wes knew that he was gay. They might suspect it but he wasn't about to openly advertise it.

Sebastian pushed the doors to the restroom, walked up to the urinal and tipped his head back in relief as he emptied the contents of his bladder all the while swaying unsteadily on his feet. He wouldn't stay much longer. It had felt good to unwind, he would give Santana that but it was back to work tomorrow and that would inevitably be a lot harder to do if he did it with a hangover. If he didn't drink anymore and headed home now, sculled a large glass or water along with two Advil, he would be fine in the morning.

The crowd seemed to have dispersed when he came out of the restroom. He bee-lined for the bar, ordered a glass of water and went to reach for the stool that he had seen vacant beside him only to find that someone had slid into it while he had ordered his drink. Sebastian jolted back.

"Sorry, man," he said without really giving the other person a glance. He patted them on the back in a friendly manner, "Didn't see you there."

"On to water so quickly," the person spoke.

Sebastian turned to face the man sitting next to him and did a double-take. It was the man who he had seen on the other side of the bar only moments before staring at him through the shadows.

"Uh, I have to work tomorrow," Sebastian quickly responded, "Won't be able to do it if I keep going."

"That's a pity."

Sebastian swallowed uncertainly unable to look away from the pair on honey coloured eyes staring at him. Those dark curls tumbling down his head, his set jawline that showed just a bit too much regrowth, regrowth that should be illegal Sebastian believed, because by God it was one of the sexiest things he had seen.

He was happy to have an excuse to turn away when his water was delivered in front of him. His fingers clasped around the glass and he took a large gulp.

"I saw you staring," the man said, locking his gaze with Sebastian's.

"I have actually been staring at a lot of men tonight," Sebastian blurted. Shit. "And women," he quickly added.

"Yeah, right," Evil Blaine responded in a tone that Sebastian knew meant that he didn't believe him. He leaned in closer to Sebastian so no one else would hear their conversation. "You know, we could leave here, just you and me. I would like to stare at you all night long, without your clothes on, mind you."

Sebastian nearly choked on the mouthful of water that was in his mouth and despite all of his police and FBI training he floundered, stuttering over the words that wanted to form inside his head. Unfortunately, no amount of training was going to help him when he was in the presence of such a man.

Oh and only now had he just realized how much he had been holding onto so much bent up sexual frustration. All Sebastian wanted to do was walk out of the bar, dragging this man by scuff of his jacket and fuck him up against a hard wall. Fuck, it could be the wall right inside the middle of the bar with everyone watching for all he cared.

Screw the water. Another drink was a must. He would stumble home and fall into a drunken stupor, where, in his dreams, he could get to fuck such a man because right now, that wasn't possible. Even in his already distorted state of mind, Sebastian knew that he couldn't afford to have any distractions. But shit, it had been a long time, a very long time since he had done anything for himself in a sexual way. Sure, he beat off in the shower and watched porn on a regular basis, but he hadn't had a steady partner since college and some off and on hook ups on the side while he was patrolling the streets. Right now, his sex life was non-existent.

Sebastian's dick twitched at the thought of sex, of sex with the gorgeous man who was sitting in front of him. He swiped his hand through his hair, his blood pumping through his body. He caught his movement in the mirror at the back of the bar and remembered where he was. This wasn't the time and place for getting carried away, not when Santana was close by. Maybe over the weekend, he would go to that gay club that he had visited when he had first arrived in LA and pull a guy and then get laid.

Sebastian's head flicked up and he stared at himself in the mirror again.

Fucking hell!

The stamp that had been on the first LA murder victim's hand - it was the same as the entrance stamp used at the club he had been too. The murder victim had been to the same club and if he had been to that club, then it meant security cameras inside and out. It would take some time, but Sebastian knew he had possibly come up with their first real lead.

"Excuse me," he blurted failing to realize that there had been significant time lapse while he had been fighting the sexual turmoil within him, one that Evil Blaine had sadistically watched on, half in amusement and half in wonder at whether Sebastian had the balls to do anything about it.

Sebastian staggered frantically on the spot searching for Santana. He had to tell her. She had been right all along. All he had needed was some time, some space from the case to think.

Santana, it seemed, had been waiting for him as well. She walked up to him instantly.

"Anything interesting happen with your little conversation?" she asked taking a seat on the opposite side of him.

"No, nothing absolutely did not happen," Sebastian blurted. He stopped himself, realizing he had spoken so loudly, afraid that he had offended the man who he had been talking with. He glanced cautiously to his other side and his shoulders dropped when he found the seat beside him empty. Whether the man had heard him, he did not know because now, he was nowhere to be seen.

Sebastian turned his attention back to Santana, "I've just thought of something, we have a lead."

Santana shook her head and wrapped a merry hand around Sebastian's shoulders. "Well there's fuck all that you can do about it now with how drunk you are and by how drunk I am, Newbie. It'll have to wait until tomorrow. Just don't forget what it is between then and now!"

"But, but Santana," Sebastian stated excitedly. "This could break the case!"

"It can wait until tomorrow," Santana ordered passing him another shot, anything to get the man to shut up.

Evil Blaine watched as Sebastian staggered out of the bar nearly an hour later and hailed a cab. He was intrigued. From the looks of things, FBI Agent Sebastian Smythe was a boring workaholic with no life. Nabbing Sebastian and getting him into bed was going to be a challenge, but Evil Blaine, well, Evil Blaine loved challenges.


	4. Chapter 3

**Sorry I keep stuffing up when I post on FanFiction. I'll get the hang of it eventually...**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

Kurt didn't know what was wrong with him. It was as if he had completed a 180 degree turn around because all he could think about since he had gotten home from work was Blaine. He was trying to get another hour of editing in since he was now going sightseeing the next day, but whenever he had tried to focus on his laptop, he found his thoughts being lazily pulled away again. It was strange. When he was attracted to other men, like Ben at his work, he was always able to push the feelings aside and stay in control. Blaine's face however kept jumping back into Kurt's mind's eye determined to not leave him alone.

Kurt smiled dreamily. Men like Blaine did not walk into a person's life every day. Gorgeous, dark haired, well-spoken and polite Blaine: the stranger who had escorted him to The Tube, the hero who had stepped out of the darkness to save him. Kurt shook his head. He was getting far too ahead of himself and, he chastised, no matter how wonderful Blaine might have been, Kurt's utmost priority was securing the year-long contract with Vogue. He blinked his eyes viciously and refocused on his article. Several seconds later however, he sighed again, slammed his laptop closed and collapsed onto his bed, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn't even bothered by Rachel's caterwauling in the shower.

The air was cool the next morning as he stepped out into the street at Charing Cross station, the sky in its permanent grey. Kurt didn't mind. The weather in London suited his skin's necessity to hide from the sun. For about ninety percent of the year, Kurt believed he would not have to fear about getting burnt.

He glanced around expectantly and when his eyes failed to immediately spot Blaine, his burgeoning feelings stopped in their tracks. After all the build-up and fantasies he had created of sipping coffee and holding hands, taking long strolls throughout London and stolen kisses after having dinner, his romance with Blaine was over before it had even started. Blaine had not turned up. Kurt sighed. He knew it was silly to harbour so many emotions for someone he had only just met. But oh, were his fantasies last night vast and many.

All of a sudden, a soft hand came to rest on his shoulder. Kurt spun around and found himself staring into Blaine's eyes.

"Hi Kurt," Blaine said smiling confidently.

"HHii," Kurt stammered.

Blaine looked even more handsome than the night before. He was stunning. The previous evening he had being wearing a long raincoat that had come to his knees - which most likely had been to protect him from the terrible weather. It had hidden what he had been wearing but today Kurt was delighted by what he saw. Blaine was casually dressed, most noticeable was the red bowtie around his neck that matched the red lines that could be found in his shirt. His jacket was fitted and flattering, and his trousers snug showing off his shapely legs.

Blaine held out his hand for Kurt to shake. "It's good to know that you were not a figment of my imagination," Blaine lied. He knew well enough that Kurt was not a figment of his imagination. Guiltily, he even knew where Kurt lived. It was a necessity though. It was for Blaine's personal safety.

Kurt took Blaine's hand within his to return the handshake and relished in the feel of Blaine's firm grip. He didn't notice when Blaine checked his hand to see if he still had the scar from the night before. "Likewise," Kurt finally managed. "I would have been terribly disappointed as well if you had turned out to be the result of an exhausted illusion."

Blaine chuckled. "Come on," he said guiding Kurt by the elbow. "There's much to see."

It was surprising how easily the conversation flowed as they walked down The Mall. Kurt suspected that it had to do with the way that Blaine would always point out something new to Kurt and draw his attention to something eye-catching in the distance. When he wasn't being the ever dutiful tour guide, he asked Kurt to talk about himself.

Kurt kept it basic. It wasn't that hard to do really. It wasn't like he had a very interesting past. So he informed Blaine of where he went to school in Lima, Ohio, which at the best of times wasn't exactly the hub for fashion (he giggled sarcastically when he said that.) He also hinted that his childhood had not been the best experience and he was now, after completing his college degree, working as hard as possible to ensure that he would never have to go back. What Kurt didn't understand was how Blaine actually found all this interesting or from the slight frown on his face, perplexing.

"I understand now how this internship is so important to you," Blaine stated with a smile. "I hope that we can keep these meetings going though. It would be such a shame if you did have to go home and you hadn't seen what London had to offer."

It would also be such a shame if he never got to see Blaine again, Kurt believed.

Blaine continued, "I'd love to help you enjoy your time in London."

"I'd like that," Kurt replied softly.

They reached the end of The Mall their conversation drawing to a close as they walked around The Victoria Memorial, their eyes gazing on its form only briefly before they took in the impressive sight of the palace. Kurt's face lit up with excitement and Blaine laughed at the joy of it. They stayed for a while and watched the Changing of the Guard before casually moving on but it was only after they had sat outside a small café, their cups empty of coffee that Kurt realized that while Blaine knew nearly all the relevant things about him, Kurt didn't know a thing about Blaine.

"So, Blaine, what about you? Where did you grow up?"

Blaine slowly stirred the sugar that he had added to his drink while his eyes floated from the top of Kurt's body to his toes, his eyes taking in every aspect of his outfit. Kurt squirmed, the attention making a soft pinkish flush come to his cheeks.

Blaine's eyes suddenly lifted to Kurt's.

"Those are nice cuffs," he mentioned. Blaine reached out swiftly and took Kurt's wrist in his hand where he then twisted Kurt's hand gently so his skin was exposed. Kurt couldn't help but catch his breath.

"Thanks," Kurt said, trying to smile.

Blaine continued to analyse the cuffs and while he looked, his thumb began to stroke over the delicate skin of Kurt's wrist. Kurt held his breath. He knew it was pathetic, but it was enough to get his heart beating fast again and for a heat to suddenly fill and warm his chest. It was like the night before when Blaine had stroked the skin over his scar.

Blaine gazed up at Kurt's face, watching him intently again as he spoke. "Where did you get them, the cuffs?"

Blaine's words were like warm, soothing water washing over Kurt's head, sending him into a trance. It was just a slight touch and Kurt tried to reprimand himself for allowing it to have such an effect on him. The warmth was compelling though, haunting almost as it explored his entire body. Kurt could stay there all day with Blaine's hand on his.

Blaine suddenly pulled his hand away and Kurt snapped out of his hazy thoughts. He blinked, embarrassed, wondering how stupid he must have looked while his thoughts had wandered off.

Kurt stopped. The first thing that hit him was the fact that he was no longer sitting at the café anymore. He had been walking. Kurt turned cautiously and took in his surroundings, an unsettled confusion filling his stomach where only moments ago he had been at peace.

What had just happened?

A second ago, they had been sitting outside of a bustling café and now they were walking around a park, Hyde Park from the looks of things. What had happened to the last - Kurt quickly glanced at his watch - twenty minutes?!

Twenty minutes!?

How had that much time gone past without him having any recollection of how he had gotten to where he was? Kurt swallowed nervously hoping that his confusion and distress weren't noticeable. He didn't want to scare Blaine off but inside Kurt was beginning to panic. Why on Earth had he lost twenty minutes? What had he said and done in those twenty minutes? Kurt's heart began to beat out of control and he turned in a circle trying to gain his bearings. It was as if the world was beginning to crash down onto him.

Blaine however smiled reassuringly and placed a calm hand on Kurt's arm.

"Are you alright, Kurt?" Blaine asked gently.

Kurt whipped round to face Blaine. He didn't answer. He was starting to feel nauseated, his mind reeling and his stomach uncomfortable. His eyes flickered nervously until Blaine reached out and took his arm again.

"Kurt?" Blaine spoke softly.

Kurt jumped. He was sure that Blaine had been talking to him again but he had no idea what he had just said.

"Do you want to sit down?" Blaine guided Kurt to the nearest bench without waiting for an answer and Kurt collapsed onto it, grabbing a hold of the park bench armrest to steady his body, all the while his eyes flashing around in bewilderment. Blaine watched Kurt closely perched on the bench right beside him.

"Yes, I'll go to Madame Tussauds with you," Kurt whispered his voice shaking and it took him a moment to realize that the words that had come out of his mouth were ones that were answering a question Blaine had asked. Kurt didn't even know when he had heard it or how he had remembered it.

"That's great," Blaine replied. "But, I'm more concerned with how you feel right now. Are you okay? You look very pale."

Kurt nodded but he wrapped his arms around his body as he started to shiver. Maybe he had been working too hard or maybe it was stress, or maybe he was coming down with a nasty virus. He leaned back on the bench, closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. After a minute or two, he was starting to feel a little better but he had to get his wits about him otherwise Blaine was not going to want to see him ever again.

"Maybe you should go home and have a rest," Blaine suggested rubbing Kurt's hand this time. Kurt had another wave of nausea and he was forced to lean forward in case he threw up all of the contents of his breakfast right then and there.

"I'm so sorry," Kurt gasped rocking gently. "I really don't know what has come over me. I suddenly feel really sick."

"Don't worry about it," Blaine soothed. "Come on, I'll help you get home. Do you live alone?" he asked as he helped Kurt to his feet. He hadn't been able to determine whether Kurt lived alone or not when he had followed him home.

Kurt managed to shake his head. "I live with my roommate, Rachel."

Blaine tried to hide the frown on his face but it relaxed instantly as Kurt continued, "But she won't be there at the moment."

"Well, I'll help you," Blaine told him kindly. "If you don't mind a near stranger helping you home." Kurt stumbled, misjudged his balance and was forced to lean against Blaine for support. Blaine put his arm around Kurt's shoulder and started to guide the way. "We've done a lot of walking today. Sometimes the fresh air can really take it out of you."

"Okay," Kurt whispered still so confused and dizzy that he didn't have the strength to protest. He didn't want the day to end but he knew it couldn't continue either with the way he was feeling. "Maybe a rest might be a good idea."

Kurt's apartment was small and cosy, typical of a London flat on a modest rent. It was a simple affair of two small rooms, a shared kitchen and bathroom that also housed their washing machine. Blaine had managed to get a black cab and fortunately traffic had been on their side, so it had only taken them half an hour to get to his home. Kurt was thankful for Blaine's help although he was terribly embarrassed. Blaine was warm and caring, lending Kurt his comforting touch the whole journey home, his hand gently rubbing Kurt's wrist while his other arm wrapped protectively around Kurt's shoulders. Blaine really was a dashing hero.

Blaine took off Kurt's shoes once they entered Kurt's apartment and followed Kurt's hand that had pointed the direction to his bedroom. He pulled back the blankets and helped Kurt into his bed.

"Rest up, Kurt," Blaine said softly as Kurt began to drift off. "I'm so sorry but I had to do it to be sure. I have to keep me safe and if I'm right, I have to do this to keep you safe as well."

Kurt didn't process the rest of Blaine's words. He had already fallen asleep and he wasn't aware at all when Blaine started to search through his belongings.

Blaine was irked and really worried. From what Kurt had said, from what he had told Blaine, Blaine was sure, he was really sure that Kurt, this quiet shy individual from Lima, Ohio might possibly be the original Kurt, the one that would be left behind if the curse was broken. And if he was, then Blaine had a responsibility, a duty to keep him safe. And if Kurt was the original Kurt, no matter how attracted Blaine was to him, he couldn't do anything with Kurt, because out there somewhere was the real Blaine and they were destined to be together.

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><p>Autumn was in the air. Danny could feel it. He shivered against the cool breeze that teased him and turned his collar up with his free hand, the other holding his phone. He leaned against the wall behind him, tucked one foot up to rest on the bricks and unwittingly struck a magnificent pose that passer-byers couldn't help but take notice of.<p>

Danny was oblivious to anyone walking past though. His entire focus was on his phone, a soft smile on his lips as he typed.

"So, we're meeting again for the first time tonight," he texted.

"_That's good, I guess,"_ the response came.

"Everyone that was there that day, who saw it happen, they're going to be there. They're all eager to stop Evil Blaine."

"_Hmm, that's good."_

"Don't worry about it," Danny comforted. "We've dealt with much worse. Should I tell them about us?" Danny stopped, rethought his words and deleted the 'us'. "Should I tell them I meet with you?"

Danny tapped his hand on his thigh as he waited for a response. He hadn't said what he wanted to and he knew that the other person would know exactly what he really meant.

"_I don't think so. I want to find out how they think they're going to tackle this first."_

Danny had suspected as much. "Will I see you later?" he asked hopefully.

"_I'm in town, so yes."_

The grin on Danny's face widened. "I'll text you when I leave." He pocketed his phone and walked the five more feet to the entrance of the apartment complex. He pressed the buzzer, smiled to the camera that was looking down at him and pushed on the door when he was buzzed through. The security at Derek's building had been heightened in the past couple of years. Danny didn't know whether Beacon Hills still struggled with the same amount of supernatural incidents that it had in the past, but he was sure that the extra security was to give some peace to the other tenants in the building.

Danny suppressed the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that started to build the higher the lift went. It had been a long time since he had stepped foot in this building. Apart from Lydia, he had not kept in touch with anyone but he couldn't exactly be sure whether he could say he had moved on. For the past three years, Danny had inevitably and explicitly linked himself right in the midst of this twisted course of events. He still didn't know how he was going to respond to the questions his old friends were sure to pass his way because now, he had someone to protect.

The door to Derek's loft had been slid open waiting for his arrival.

"Aah," Scott said coming up to stand beside Danny once he had crossed the threshold. He patted Danny on the back several times. "_Now_ the old gang is all here."

Danny reached over to shake Scott's hand but Scott shrugged his head. "A fucking handshake? Are you kidding me? Come here."

There were hugs all around and Danny was relieved to find that when he gazed round at everyone, he was filled with happiness at seeing them again. There before him stood Derek, and next to Derek, Stiles, Lydia and Kira.

They chatted happily, catching up on everyone's lives and even daring to reminiscence at times while they ate some food that Derek had put out. Eventually however, it was time to get down to business and they finally moved to the large dining room table that at some time over the years, Derek had decided to buy.

"So, what's the plan?" Derek asked once they were all seated facing each other.

"Well, there are two important things that we have to do first," Lydia stated giving each person a quick glance. "Obviously, we need to keep the original Kurt and Blaine safe and….

"We need to stop this Evil Blaine who is killing," Scott cut in, his voice dead calm.

Lydia nodded, "Exactly."

"That's all well and good but just how are we going to even find this Evil Blaine?" Derek argued, leaning heavily onto the table.

"Easy," Lydia stated confidentially. She stared directly at Danny then and all eyes fell onto him in surprise.

Danny stirred uncomfortably in his seat and swallowed uneasily. "I accidentally stumbled into a Blaine and Kurt when I was in a club in LA. It was by pure coincidence," he added quickly, "that they were there. And it was just pure luck that it turned out to be the Evil Blaine."

"How did you know it was the Evil Blaine?" Stiles interrupted.

"I didn't at first," Danny explained. "I recognized them, the Kurt and Blaine, and I followed them to a motel and, and…I saw the Evil Blaine leave a little while later and then the next thing I know, it's on the news that the motel had had a murder." He decided to leave out the part of Evil Blaine knowing somehow that he had been there and had basically threatened him.

"You followed them to a motel!" Stiles exclaimed.

Danny shifted uncomfortably again. He didn't like lying to his old friends and he also hadn't missed the quick glance that occurred between Derek and Scott when he had spoken. They were more than aware of the inaccuracies in his story.

"Do we know yet why he is doing it?" Derek asked.

Danny looked at the table. He wanted to help them. He wanted to help them so much but he didn't want them to know just how much he knew. It was the deepest kind of betrayal to his old friends, but opening his mouth would lead to another kind of betrayal. Lydia squeezed his hand under the table. Only Lydia knew his secret.

"I get the feeling," Lydia began for him. "That each and every time Evil Blaine kills a Kurt, all the other Kurts get stronger. And… I have a feeling that there is a Kurt out there killing Blaines as well, which leads to all the other Blaines getting stronger too. The Evil Kurt though, he's just doing it under the radar."

Everyone stared at Lydia. No one questioned or rebuked her. They had known Lydia for far too long and about her connection to death and those close to it. If she said those words, then she had to believe that they were true. Danny squeezed her hand back in thanks and the conversation moved on.

"That's worrying," Stiles stated. "What happens when all the Kurts and Blaines die and there's only the Evil Kurt and Evil Blaine left over. We already know that the curse gave them supernatural powers of the mind, what abilities are they going to possess once they are super strong?"

"That's something we don't want to find out, I'm guessing," Scott declared darkly.

"Agreed," Kira finally spoke. "I have a feeling the longer we wait, the harder it's going to be to get rid of this Evil Blaine and Evil Kurt. Just how strong can they get and, what about the real Blaine and Kurt?" she continued. "How are we going to find them? We need to keep them safe because I don't even want to know what would happen if they were killed? Would the curse end or would this Evil Kurt and Evil Blaine take their place?"

"I don't know where they are," Lydia spoke quietly trying not to let her eyes fall in Danny's direction again. "But I do know that they have found each other. I sensed it two nights ago."

"Do they know what's going on now?" Kira asked worriedly. "If at least they knew to be on the lookout for this Evil Blaine who might try and kill them…"

"I have no idea," Lydia replied trying to keep her breathing steady. "You're right though," Lydia agreed. "They need to know."

"Alright," Scott began taking control of the conversation fully aware that Lydia and Danny were not being completely honest. He turned to Danny. "Do you have any idea where the Evil Blaine is now?"

Danny coughed uncomfortably as all eyes fell on him again. "Not right at this moment but I know where he was. He returned to one of the crime scenes in LA."

"Well, that's not very smart," Stiles laughed but Danny shook his head.

"No, he's very smart. He returned to the scene of the crime because it seems that he has taken a particular interest in the FBI agent who is investigating the murders."

"Ah, great!" Stiles cut in bitterly. "Another thing to worry about. Is this FBI guy going to be any bother?"

Danny shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know anything about the agent. I've only seen the guy from a distance."

It was not much of a start so Scott pressed on. "Do you think you could locate the Evil Blaine again?"

"Maybe, I guess we could try following this FBI agent or wait until there's another murder, which I know is not the best option."

"Hmm, seems like this FBI agent could do with being protected too," Kira stated softly.

Scott crossed his arms. "He's going to have to rely on his own skills for the time being, we're stretched too thin. This is how we're going to do this," he stated authoritatively. "Lydia and Stiles if you don't mind, you two are going to start doing some more research on this curse. I know we looked into it last time and we came up empty handed, but we were busy with other things at the time. So let's see once and for all whether we can end it or not."

Lydia and Stiles nodded. Neither really minded the task and they were more than aware that it was Scott's subtle way of trying to keep them directly out of harm's way. Danny however swallowed uneasily. He didn't want to hear anything related to ending the curse.

"Derek and Kira will join me. We'll go to one of the crime scenes and see if we can pick up his scent. Maybe we can track down this Evil Blaine that way," Scott continued. "It's going to be hard after all the other people that have been there, but if he really is this bad, he might have left an impression."

"Danny," Scott announced narrowing his eyes slightly. "I think it would be best if you joined Lydia and Stiles. Derek can help me with tracking the Evil Blaine. If we do come face-to-face with him, I don't want anyone coming to harm. Derek, Kira and I can deal with him." Scott paused gathering his thoughts before he said more. "If along the way we get a lead as to where the original Kurt and Blaine are, we'll follow it but in the meantime, let's see if we can end this curse once and for all or, at the very least, stop these sadistic killers."

They continued discussing their plans for the next several hours, debating how they would keep up-to-date and when, in case of emergencies, where they would go and how they would regroup. Their past experiences had taught them well to have a safe place and to have emergency call-ins so they could monitor everyone.

It wasn't until after ten o'clock that Danny believed that he could call it a night and leave. He had told everyone he had some business to attend to first before he could get started and he would regroup with Lydia and Stiles the next day. Lydia walked him out, their arms looped together.

She frowned gently towards Danny when she was sure they were out of earshot, even far enough away from any possible prying werewolf ears. "We need to talk later."

Danny met her gaze. "I know, but I can't right now."

"You're going to see him, aren't you?"

Danny didn't answer. He didn't have too, his face said it all.

"Go on," she said playfully, "shoo, shoo, off you go!"

Danny leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "You're the best. I'll see you tomorrow morning for breakfast before we regroup."

"Hmm," Lydia nodded with a mischievous smirk. "Why don't we make it lunch, hey? I'll be nice."

Danny laughed. "Okay, lunch it is."

"I'm sure the others would understand," she suddenly said after him.

Danny stopped and their gaze met. He didn't answer but he gave her a nod in acknowledgement to what she had said. Without any other words, Danny turned and headed down the street hailing the first cab that came into sight.

Lydia watched him leave and when she was satisfied that he was on his way, she turned to return to the loft. She startled at the sight of both Scott and Derek standing before her, their arms crossed with unamused expressions on their faces.

"It seems that Danny has forgotten that we can tell when people are lying," Derek stated grimly.

Lydia sighed, "It's alright Derek."

"No it's not," Scott cut in. "Obviously he's hiding something from us."

Lydia stepped forward and gave Scott's arm a reassuring squeeze. "He has his reasons but it's not my place to say anything. Don't worry. Danny is not doing anything to betray us."

Derek's eyebrows rose in surprise. "We would never suggest such a thing, but you know Danny. He's too trusting."

Lydia pretended to think for a moment her arms folded over her chest and her head tilted to the side, "I don't think the both of you give Danny enough credit."

Scott couldn't contain the impatient growl under his breath. "Tell us Lydia, tell us what you know."

"No!" she flatly refused. "I will tell you where he's staying though, but please, do the right thing and at least give him a couple of hours."

* * *

><p>Danny paced impatiently in the lift as it took him to the seventh floor to where his hotel room was located. His family had moved on from Beacon Hills a long time ago and with his desire to rendezvous with his lover, he wouldn't stay with Derek or Stiles. He almost danced his way through the open lift doors and the card to his door was already in his hands before he got there. Eagerly he stepped into his room and stopped in disappointment when he realized that he was all alone. Disheartened, he headed towards the minibar and began to make himself a drink. He put on the TV and went to use the bathroom.<p>

His face broke out into a smile when he heard the channels on his TV begin to change. He turned off the tap to be sure and quickly dried his hands. "One day, you're going to tell me just how you manage to get into these rooms," Danny said as he stepped out of the bathroom.

Mystery Kurt smiled and picked up Danny's untouched drink. "You know," he began thoughtfully, "I know someone else who often says a similar thing to me."

Danny laughed. "How is the real Blaine?"

"He's good," Mystery Kurt told him moving closer, his eyes gliding appreciatively over Danny's body. "He's back in London where he's supposed to be."

"Have you told him yet, that's he's the real Blaine?"

Mystery Kurt shook his head. "I think it would only cause him more stress."

The satisfied smile on Danny's face deepened as Mystery Kurt came within arm's reach and he eagerly reached out to pull Mystery Kurt closer. Mystery Kurt however took a step back and gave him a sharp frown. He was always about business first. Mystery Kurt's hand went to his trousers and he eased them over his hip bone, leaving his marking tattoo in plain sight. Danny nodded impatiently and reached out again catching Mystery Kurt by the shoulders but only because Mystery Kurt let him. Danny ran his hands down Mystery Kurt's arms. "I missed you," he whispered resting his forehead on Mystery Kurt's.

Mystery Kurt smiled and leaned in to let their lips meet briefly. "No you didn't, and you know better than that," he said his tone soft and gentle. He tilted his head and closed his eyes as Danny started to place several soft kisses down Mystery Kurt's neck. "You ought to be more careful," Mystery Kurt warned with an authoritative tone. "I don't know how many times I've told you that the marking tattoo should be the first thing you ask me about. It's different for Blaine, he has a way of sensing me, you can't."

Danny gave a grumble of discontentment while he continued to nuzzle his mouth under the collar of Mystery Kurt's shirt.

Knowing that he didn't have Danny's full attention, Mystery Kurt grabbed a hold of Danny's shoulders and pushed him back. "I'm serious Danny," he said sternly. "Your life could be in danger as much as Blaine's and mine, and you know that's true after what happened in LA with Evil Blaine. He's very aware of your presence now too."

Danny nodded, afraid that upsetting Mystery Kurt further would cause him to leave and disappear into the night, never to be seen again.

"I'm sorry, I know," Danny spoke quickly. "I was just excited to see you. It's been too long since we were last together."

Mystery Kurt watched him for a moment and sensing Danny's desire, he took control. "Take your shirt off," Mystery Kurt ordered firmly.

Danny obeyed. He pulled himself free from Mystery Kurt's hold and tugged his shirt from behind his shoulders up and over his head. Mystery Kurt's eyes dropped as Danny stood half-dressed before him and he swapped the drink to his other hand and used his index finger, now cold and wet from the condensation on the glass, to slowly slide down Danny's chest. Danny gasped at the icy touch and gazed hungrily at Mystery Kurt, waiting for his next instruction.

"I didn't mean to snap," Mystery Kurt told him, his voice low. "I just get worried about people."

Danny didn't answer but his chest began to rise rapidly as his anticipation grew. It didn't go unnoticed by Mystery Kurt.

"Bed," Mystery Kurt stated simply after he believed he had let Danny suffer long enough.

Danny followed his instruction quickly. He stepped backwards and allowed his legs to buckle behind him and while Mystery Kurt walked round to the side of the bed to place his drink on the headboard, Danny scooted himself back so he could rest amongst the pillows.

Mystery Kurt began to take his clothes off and Danny watched. It wasn't just the sex. Danny wanted to say more, _desperately_ wanted to say more. He wanted to tell Mystery Kurt that he wanted to see him regularly and not just on these random hook-ups. He had no idea where Mystery Kurt resided or what he did to fund his travels, but he wanted Mystery Kurt to stay put for longer, with him. Danny wanted to make more of these sessions.

"I wish I didn't have to share you," Danny whispered in awe as Mystery Kurt's naked, slender form climbed onto to bed and straddled over his waist. Danny lowered his hands and rested them on Mystery Kurt's hips.

"Don't worry," Mystery Kurt said as he started to work on the buckle of Danny's belt. "It won't be for much longer."

Danny leaned up and kissed Mystery Kurt eagerly, pleased with his response. He wiggled his hips allowing Mystery Kurt to pull his trousers down until he too was naked on the bed. Mystery Kurt's eyes roamed uninhibitedly up and down Danny's body. "Hmm," he said raising his eyes momentarily to meet Danny's, "maybe we should hook-up more often."

Danny pretended to chuckle but the twinge inside his heart had hurt when he heard the word 'hook-up'. He would bury it for the time being and spend his time kissing Mystery Kurt instead. He leaned up and captured Mystery Kurt's lips within his own.

"Oh!" he gasped pulling back quickly. "I almost forgot."

Mystery Kurt twisted his head to the side quizzically.

"Lydia thinks the original Blaine has found the real Kurt."

Mystery Kurt froze.

"That's a good thing though right?" Danny asked confused by the cold expression that had suddenly come to Mystery Kurt's face. "They're meant to be together, aren't they?"

Mystery Kurt didn't answer straight away. He remained poised, his weight even over Danny's body.

Danny rubbed his hands down Mystery Kurt's arms. "Are you afraid of them being together?" Danny asked a hint of surprise in his voice.

Mystery Kurt's eyes flicked over to Danny's and he managed a smile. "Of course not," he said. "As you said, they're meant to be together."

"You're worried about the implications that this may have on you, aren't you?" Danny stated. "I am too. What happens if they fall in love again? What happens to you?"

Mystery Kurt placed both of his hands on either side of Danny's face. "I honestly don't know but we can talk about it later," he said softly. His eyes focused on Danny's lips. "I think there are more important things to worry about right now," he purred, "don't you?"

Danny lurched forward crashing their lips together and his hands dropped to Mystery Kurt's hips again so he could pull Mystery Kurt closer and deeper towards him.

"Just remember who's in charge here," Mystery Kurt said slyly.

Mystery Kurt took over after that and Danny listened and obeyed his instructions. He touched Mystery Kurt when and where he wanted to be touched and when Mystery Kurt finally slid down around him, easing his way until Danny was completely inside, Danny promised himself that he would talk to Mystery Kurt about his feelings. Danny let his thoughts ease away and his head fall back as Mystery Kurt began to moan. For the present, he would take whatever he could of Mystery Kurt.

* * *

><p>"I've got good news," Santana said gliding into Sebastian's office with a smug look on her face.<p>

"And I've got bad news," Sebastian stated without lifting his head.

"So, who's going to go first?" she asked.

They shared a glance and Sebastian shrugged. "I'll go with good news any day."

Santana dropped a small bag onto his desk. "Fortunately for us the club was willing to hand over their surveillance tapes without a warrant."

"That is good news," Sebastian smiled. "How did you manage that?"

Santana flashed him a wry grin. "Let's just say you now have dinner plans on Saturday night with the manager."

Sebastian faltered for only a fraction of a second. He placed the pen that he had been holding onto the table while he breathed in and silently counted to ten. She was only doing this for a rise.

"I assure you," he began through gritted teeth, "that I am more than capable of landing my own dates."

"Not from what I can tell. You seemed to have missed the other night at the bar." Santana sank back into her chair and bit into the apple that she had pulled out of her bag.

Sebastian pursed his lips, desperately trying not to snap back. It would only give her the satisfaction she wanted.

"What's his name?" Sebastian asked.

Santana raised her eyebrows, her apple frozen in her hand in the air. "Carl."

"Well thank you, Santana," Sebastian said, "for adding another item to the list of things I have to do today because it's a date that's going to be cancelled."

Santana sighed. "What's the bad news?" she asked realizing that Sebastian was not going to be any fun.

"This," he said and this time, he did not try to hide the impatience in his voice. Santana noted it too and became serious as he placed his iPad in front of her. She quickly scanned over the three different results that had been resent.

"That doesn't make sense!" Santana stated agitatedly. "It's not even possible! The DNA and blood results from all the victims can not be the same!"

"I know," Sebastian agreed grimly. "But that's what's come back. One set of results from Seattle, one from Miami and one from Texas, all with the same blood and DNA. I got all the past doctors to check their results three times but it's a mistake! It has to be! Someone is fucking with us and trying to delay our progress, that's all." Sebastian huffed. He desperately wanted to make some headway before, god forbid, there was another murder.

"Someone is most certainly messing with us," Santana mused, "because the only other alternative is clones."

Sebastian scoffed, "I'm sorry but even if it was possible to have clones, they still wouldn't be exactly the same. Time would have added some changes."

"Well, I guess it depends on how long ago the clones were made?" Santana shrugged.

"Enough, Santana!" Sebastian snapped. "It's not possible. There are no human clones. We move on. I'll fly to each city with Wes and get the samples ourselves, we'll even exhume the bodies if we have to." Sebastian rose to his feet, his anger preventing him from staying in his seat. "Fuck! It's only going to add more time. How the hell are we supposed to solve this case with this shit going on?" He didn't wait for a response and continued before Santana could even draw a breath. "Here, you make a start on these videos and I'll start making travel plans. Hopefully one or two of the bodies will still be in the morgue." Sebastian left the office and Santana folded her arms over her chest unimpressed. She jumped when Sebastian's head suddenly reappeared. "Make me a copy as well," he ordered. "If I get stuck in some shit hole, at least I can check them out too."

Santana pursed her lips. This ordering her around habit that Sebastian had, was going to have to stop. He was still missing the point that they were meant to be working together. She reached across the desk and picked up the bag that had the surveillance tapes from the club.

Santana however was not really too concerned that her afternoon was going to be filled with watching endless hours of video because finally they had something extra to go on. To add to the complexity of the case, they only had a vague description of the car that had been parked outside of the motel room of the last murder. They hadn't been able to get anything on the street cams, neither had they been able to find any information on where the victim's car was right now. Santana didn't think the killer would still have it. He was too smart for that. Now though, they had a club with inside security cameras. It was a needle in a haystack but at least it was something to start from, they could go on a vague description of what they knew the victim had been wearing. And they could also interview the staff who had been on that night to see if they had witnessed anything untoward, but Santana didn't think they would be able to remember anything. The victim of the first LA murder had certainly left willingly.

* * *

><p>Danny woke in his hotel room to the sound of a steady persistent knocking on his door. He rolled over kicking off his sheets and felt disheartened by the empty bed beside him. Mystery Kurt had left without even saying goodbye.<p>

He put his eye to the peephole and found a brooding Scott on the other side.

"Can I come in?" Scott asked.

Danny shuddered. He hated it when Scott did things like that, how he knew that he was standing on the other side looking at him through the peephole.

"Just a second," Danny called back glancing over his shoulder for his clothes. He grabbed his underwear and trousers and quickly pulled them on.

"What's up?" he asked as he opened the door, trying to be as casual as possible while Scott strode past him.

"I want to know what's going on."

"N,n, nothing's going on."

Scott turned to face Danny and crossed his arms. "I'll be satisfied with Lydia only telling me where you're staying, but you have to be honest with me. If we want to help the real Kurt and Blaine and stop this Evil Blaine, you need to speak."

Danny was silent. He couldn't hide from the truth any longer. It was inevitable that it was going to come out sooner or later. "I am involved with one of the Kurts," he revealed dropping his head.

Shocked, Scott's voice lost its assertive tone. "How Danny? We lost them! We couldn't find them!"

"It was an accident," Danny explained. He paused and realized that Scott was waiting for him to confide in him but Danny couldn't go there just yet, it was too personal. "He, he comes and goes but he's a good Kurt, Scott," Danny offered instead. "I call him Mystery Kurt. We, I really care about him." Danny faltered and ran a hand through his hair. "I know we need to stop the Evil Blaine and the Evil Kurt…"

"So there's definitely an Evil Kurt as well?" Scott cut in, sitting in the only chair available in the room.

Danny nodded. "I don't want the curse to end," Danny stated quickly. "I would hate to lose Mystery Kurt."

"We don't know if that's what'll even happen," Scott said carefully. He watched Danny closely. "He's definitely not the real Kurt?"

Danny nodded his head believing that his voice would betray him and break.

Scott sighed heavily. This was a twist that he hadn't anticipated. This Mystery Kurt didn't exist a few years ago, to Scott all the other Kurts and Blaines were just copies, they didn't matter. They only acted as a barrier to saving Liam. Only the real Kurt and Blaine mattered. They were the ones who needed to be saved. But now, here was Danny obviously in deep and Scott didn't know how he should handle this.

"I know how you think of them all, Scott," Danny began. "But Mystery Kurt, he's special. He means something to me."

Scott leaned back. "Does he know where the real Blaine is?"

Danny nodded quickly. "He does. The real Blaine is in London."

"London!" Scott repeated surprised once more. "That means that since Lydia thinks the real Kurt and real Blaine have met, then the real Kurt must also be in London." Scott was silent while he processed what he had just learnt. "This could actually be good news," he said after a few minutes. "Hopefully this means that they're both out of harm's way?"

"Mystery Kurt has always tried to keep the real Blaine in London," Danny confirmed. "He's never run into another Kurt until now."

"Well," Scott decided. "If they are safe for the time being then I guess we stick to our original plan and focus on stopping this Evil Blaine and Evil Kurt. We still need to research the curse, Danny, and I can't promise you anything. We don't know what will happen to the other Kurts and Blaines if the curse is broken but I'll be honest with you, if we need to end their existence to allow Liam to be saved, I'll do it."

Danny swallowed deeply and hung his head and Scott rose to his feet to stand before him.

"Do you really care about him that much?" Scott asked.

Danny lifted his head and looked him square in the eye. "Yes, I do, very much indeed."

Scott didn't answer but he leaned forward and squeezed Danny on the shoulder before he turned and left.

* * *

><p>Kurt sweated the whole week worried that Blaine would change his mind and would never contact him again. He couldn't believe the way he had acted. It was not the best way to try and make a good impression on someone. Kurt also shuddered when he thought of how Blaine had had to bring him home and god forbid, tuck him into bed. And his room! Kurt wasn't a messy person but when newly acquainted guests were coming over he would go to great lengths to ensure his belongings were exactly in the place where they were supposed to be. Instead, Blaine had seen his room in a state of disarray.<p>

Kurt slammed his head onto his desk in embarrassment. After lying on his back all night on Wednesday unable to sleep, Kurt decided that enough was enough. He had to refocus. He was in London to gain the contract and he was going to get it. From Thursday onwards, Kurt delved into his work not stopping to eat or socialize beyond the walls of Vogue. He was sure that one day he would come to terms of having to lead a life of abstinence.

Blaine wanted to see Kurt again, there was no doubt about that. He was just being cautious, overly so. He had faced death once before in the hands of another Kurt and he was certain he was not going to do it again. He had to be sure that this Kurt was safe, that this wasn't the same Evil Kurt who had tried to kill him three years ago. When he had touched Kurt for the first time at the train station he had only sensed goodness, but he wanted to be doubly sure and so he had used his special skill, the special skill that Mystery Kurt had helped him control. It was the skill that gave him the ability to calm people with the mere touch of his hand. It was also a skill that could be used as a defence mechanism. Too much of it and it could make a person sick, or go into a trance or even unconsciousness. So he had made Kurt feel sick on purpose in an attempt to get inside Kurt's private life to try and determine exactly who he was.

The next Thursday night Blaine sent Kurt a text to confirm their time and place to meet, and Kurt, on the other side of London, squealed in excitement. Somehow, miraculously, he had not scared Blaine off and he began to wonder just how he was going to get any sleep for the next two nights. They were going to Harrods for some early morning shopping. Afterwards Blaine wanted to have lunch at Camden Markets.

Kurt wrapped his arms around his body and smiled to himself. Saturdays were certainly looking a lot brighter. He was sure that the friendship that he had started to build between Blaine and he, was going to go further.

* * *

><p>Thursday morning came early for Stiles with Lydia shaking his shoulders roughly to waken him.<p>

They had been sharing a bed in Derek's loft, not romantically of course. They had started out with Lydia sleeping in the Derek's spare room upstairs, with Scott and Kira in the other spare room until they left for LA to seek Evil Blaine. The sofa had been all that had been left and Stiles had tried to sneak in with Derek. Derek however, had not been amused. Stiles apparently tossed and turned too much in his sleep and in the early morning hours, had taken to snuggling in a huge bear hug. An additional single bed had been ordered and placed in the open vast space of Derek's loft even though Stiles had only slept in it for one night. Once Derek, Scott and Kira had left, he had taken Scott and Kira's large bed only to roll over two nights later to find Lydia standing over him in the still of the night.

"Oh, if my teenage self could see me now," he sassed.

"Don't you get any ideas," she hissed pulling the covers back. "I can't sleep."

"And why do you think coming to my bed is going to help?" Stiles remarked scooting back to give her space.

"Because if my nightmares start getting really bad, I know you can try to pull me out." Lydia snuggled under the covers, her back to Stiles. "He knows," she whispered.

"Who knows?" Stiles asked.

"He knows that we're looking into the curse."

Horrified, Stiles gasped. "He? As in Evil Blaine He?"

"No," Lydia replied her voice already sounding drained and sleepy. "Evil Kurt. He came to me twice tonight, coming to me in my dreams and terrifying me. He's trying to scare me off."

"Do you think it's because it's what we've suspected," Stiles said into the darkness now that Lydia had turned off his bedside lamp. "He's concerned that ending the curse, ends all the other Kurts and Blaines too."

"Hmm, maybe. Anyway," Lydia shuddered. "He's sick. I don't like him in my head."

Stiles didn't have a comment to that. He couldn't imagine what she was seeing and he wouldn't refuse her his company if that was what she needed to get the best possible night sleep. And Stiles hated to admit it, but he enjoyed her company as well. It wasn't that it was Lydia. He had enjoyed sleeping in Derek's bed as well. It was the fact that there was another living, breathing person lying next to him letting him know that he wasn't alone in the world in the dead of night. It could have been romantic of course, if the circumstances had been different. If it had been a different person, a different place, a different time, but there was nothing romantic in his life at all now. Not since Malia had left him.

Stiles let her fall asleep. She was exhausted and he knew at first light she would be back to scouring the internet hoping to find a lead that would help them discover more information about the curse.

He had been right. The next morning they were to be lucky. Apparently getting a decent couple of hours sleep had paid off. Lydia had woken before him and had been reading in the early hours. Now she was standing over him again.

"We're going to New York," she stated triumphantly.

"New York?" Stiles asked frowning.

"New York," she repeated.

* * *

><p>Evil Blaine took a long drawl on his cigarette watching the movement across the street. It looked as if Sebastian was going on a trip and from the carryon luggage he had, he wasn't going for long. Evil Blaine wanted to mess with Sebastian, mess with him in more ways than one. His body twitched with the imagery that came to mind and he felt his dick go hard in this pants. He pulled another long drag on his cigarette and flicked the butt to the curb out of his open window. Fucking Sebastian wasn't his only motive. He needed to know what the FBI knew. He wanted to ensure that they didn't find out about the curse either.<p>

Evil Blaine watched as Sebastian drove off. He would come back for Sebastian later when he returned, for now Evil Blaine had another itch under his skin that he couldn't ignore. It was an itch that was telling him that he should be in New York and even though the thought of staying behind and playing with the two werewolves and Kitsune who were on his tail was tempting, New York was far more important because, all of a sudden, Evil Blaine knew where another Kurt was.


End file.
